Some nights he would not turn up, others he would turn up manic.
He would sometimes, ask for some Dylan to be played, and he would sit and write a song or a poem, then leave.
He would sometimes walk to a nearby town, which was an hours drive away, there and back drinking only water.
Some Monday nights over dinner we would talk about a range of stuff, some nights he would just eat.
Some nights, his place at the table empty, we would wonder where he was and how he was doing.
Sadly our friend died some time later, in dubious circumstance.
For him 'normal' was different than we understood normal, and as the children set the table each Monday night, there was always a place set for him, just incase he turned up.
He was loved and is missed.
Come to me
you lost and lonely
Lonely in
your beauty
Frightened
and alone in your fame
Come to me, I
love you
I know your
name
Come to me,
you naked and ashamed
You lost and
you forsaken
I know your
name
Come to me,
you unloved and you mistaken
Walk with me,
I love you
Come to me
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