People come and People go

The contest called for the saddest music in the world. All of a sudden everyone started playing their instruments, furiously as if they played them to live and breathe. They bled. It reminded me of something I don't know what, it would come to me later in a dream.

If you're sad and you like beer, I'm your lady.
Everybody wants to pass judgement. Everyone has an opinion. I've even got my own
THEORY.
A friend of death once told me: I had not left with what I came here for.

He also said, "Tell me your secrets."
I refused.
My computer tells me secrets and sends me messages that I don't want to hear. I think it would be similar. So I keep mum. A habit I picked up as a child living in a house of storytellers and thieves. I hum a little tune to jog his memory, something with strings and a lot of wind, though it's not the saddest song. It's also not particularly happy.

I start to sing the song with my voice like a train:
Let's go back to 1965
Let's go back to when everything felt fine.
Let's go back to a place where hearts and hands and hair was held tight.

I get interrupted, with more advice:
Introduction: How to be happy.
Step1: Love
Step2: Laugh
I interrupt with my two sense
No one says anything about guarding against pestilence and lies. loss of things. things that haunt you while you are gardening or asleep or in the clutches of suburban traffic. No one tells you how to move on or maintain a sense of that which once made you happy.
Look at your life: Does your lifestyle make you happy?
What is happiness? What is authenticity? What is true bliss? What is seeing? Many people are happy that do not lead happy lifestyles I.E. spotted raccoons and ferrets that are de scented. Listen to happy music eat happy food taste happy drinks think happy thoughts. They say.
How to dilute your very being: Two parts self help to three parts delusion with a dash of denial.

But friend of a friend of a friend: I'm not sad. I don't think I must be happy. I am sad. I think I want to be Happy. I'm not happy nor am I sad. I'm not neutral. I'm not troubled. I may be trouble.

At the end of the contest tears augmented our laughter. It was the saddest music in the world, but we were two happy to cry for more than the length of the piece. We forgave each other; me for not telling my secrets, and he for not letting me ask more questions. We hugged and shoved and then swam in an infinite sea sparkling like the hope diamond. But we never forgot about the contest for the saddest music in the world, and we never forgot the day I sang like a train.

After the contest and the longest swim they'd drift apart one going north and the other south (naturally). They were always connected by the thin silver thread of a child's imagination. They felt the rise and fall of one another's chests and death thought himself a matchmaker.