I’ll think of you on the cold quiet mornings the fog still touching the ground, stillness all around, coffee in my hand and a heaviness still in my heart. Crisp air and the acrid smell of smoke I’ll take another toke. Mighty moves forward and I think about those I’ve also left behind. It was supposed to be us. Looking back opening yourself isn’t for the weak and sometimes I fear it wasn’t for the strong. I’ll think of you. Always.