Two Steps Behind Her, I Say Her

And At Some Point, The Struggle Becomes Too Much-too Tiring-and You Consider Letting Go. Allowing Tragedy... Or Whatever... To Happen.

I Repeat His Words In My Head. What's Going On? What's Going On? Oh, Well, Since You Asked, I Got A Bunch Of Tapes In The Mail Today From A Girl Who Killed Herself. Apparently, I Had Something To Do With It. I'm Not Sure What That Is, So I Was Wondering If I Could Borrow Your Walkman To Find Out. 'not Much,' I Say.

Maybe It's Not As Important To You As It Was For Me, But That's Not For You To Decide.

Like Driving Along A Bumpy Road And Losing Control Of The Steering Wheel, Tossing You—just A Tad—off The Road. The Wheels Kick Up Some Dirt, But You're Able To Pull It Back. Yet No Matter How Hard You Try To Drive Straight, Something Keeps Jerking You To The Side. You Have So Little Control Over Anything Anymore. And At Some Point, The Struggle Becomes Too Much—too Tiring—and You Consider Letting Go. Allowing Tragedy... Or Whatever... To Happen.

The Longer You Wait, And This Is True, The Slower The Hands Will Move.