The train creeps along the base of the hills, marking the line of the water, like a contented caterpillar on the edge of a leaf.
“Wrong,” Dave Gahan repeatedly whispers.
A star on the horizon hovers then moves closer and I hear a buzzing like a mosquito and I wonder if I’m falling or flying.
Trying to hold it all in. Trying to be who everyone thinks I am but this week might be too much.
When will it be too much?
We all want to say something memorable for our last words. A bit of humor or irony or something which answers questions for those by our side and those to come.
But what last words when we can not speak?