When does life stop without dying?
When does life stop living?
It's when two people stop loving
and start remembering.
The above verse was written while on the Rhine River in Germany on July 18, 1973. It involves me in a rather depressed state of mind. I know why I'm depressed, and I know how to get rid of it, but I'm still in that state of mind. Depression is a terrible thing. Sometimes, it causes suicide. To me, it's a feeling of: I don't know what to say, see, feel, live for, die for, and love. I'm torn between principles and freedom. If I have principles, then I'm respected. If I have freedom, then I can do what I want. I can't do both. Where does it end?
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