He’s away, and I should miss him, and perhaps I do, but I know he’s happy.

He’s happy not because I am not there: he calls me every night, his words are as soft and suggestive as ever; he’s happy because he’s free.

He’s free of the ghosts of the past that haunted him, in Faust’s city he found peace and forgiveness, along her tree-lined streets, among people so much younger than him, and me…

I know he goes to the small park, where he finds solace, sometime love, maybe even poetry and inspiration.

I envy his freedom, but I know soon I will join him, not just for a day, or two, but forever…