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The ‘missing’ posters were on every bulletin board.  A photo of him and his dad smiling, a description of him.  A week or so later the paper ran a nostalgic article about the young man and his accomplishments, hobbies, his happiness and love of life.
I imagined flying with him in his floatplane.  We’d land at some remote island off the coast with nothing but trees and rocks, watch a sunset, stare into each other’s eyes.  He would warm my ice cold hands, calm my shivers with his presence.
But his hands are cold. Why can’t I love the living?

Somewhere over the rainbow we can be together.

The ‘missing’ posters were on every bulletin board.  A photo of him and his dad smiling, a description of him.  A week or so later the paper ran a nostalgic article about the young man and his accomplishments, hobbies, his happiness and love of life.

I imagined flying with him in his floatplane.  We’d land at some remote island off the coast with nothing but trees and rocks, watch a sunset, stare into each other’s eyes.  He would warm my ice cold hands, calm my shivers with his presence.

But his hands are cold. Why can’t I love the living?

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