Another Letter...

_______________________________



Dear November,

You really think you are Hot Shit, don't you? Capturing and having your way with me while my defenses were down?

Listen, I've got news for you. Your days are numbered. In a few minutes you will be out of my life forever. I've got to tell you, I'm happy for your demise.

I know you'd like for me to share my wrath with your predecessor, October. But I'm dealing with you and you alone right now. I'll get around to October soon enough, don't you worry your pretty little self. October, while being evil enough, at least had the brains to get out of town quickly after it committed it's crime.

But you stuck around. You tried to confuse me. You inflicted minor, but constant, pain. In your grip I was stuck with the dilemma between moving on and standing still. Your days lured me in with a false sense that the sun may just rise, and then you brought the darkness on. Man, how you brought the darkness.

But didn't you see my feet keep moving? Did you think you would cripple me? While you plotted your vile scheme, I refused to become a cliche'. True, I'll never be the same. Normal will never be back, because my normal was so tied up into his presence. But don't get too excited. I made a decision that ten years down the road I will not be one who it is said of "His life made a downward spiral after that..."

You take yourself so seriously. A week ago I thought you were one to be reckoned with. One I feared. Tonight, though, me and my friends laughed you away. You have become a joke washed away with good beer and a Love from Above that we dished out tonight with hugs and smiles and tears.

December will treat us better. Oh, it'll be dark and scary in it's own way, but we have become the ancient shepherds. December will usher us into the realization that The Almighty has looked upon us with favor. I'll cry a lot. I'll fret and I'll fear, but December will wrap me in it's arms, strong with sweet melancholy and even sweeter peace.

You won't be forgotten, but you will be finished. You are no longer worth my time.

Sincerely,

Craig.

A Letter...

Dear Meredith, Izzy, O'Malley, Christina, Alex, and the rest of the fictional characters on Grey's Anatomy,

Some would choose to look down on you because you are all so pretty and have a lot of sex and jobs that ensure financial independence. While I wouldn't necessarily choose your lives, I don't condemn you for them either. And I most assuredly do not envy you.

Your days are brimming full with the potential of death. It's in your hands and flows through the wires of your pagers and phones. You look people in the eyes and say the most dreadful words. "I'm sorry..."

You do have one advantage over us, though. Somewhere someone outside of your world is flipping through an extensive CD collection looking for the perfect song to translate your pain into a language I, the viewer, can understand.

When I stood in the room with him, there was no music. Never in my life has so much of my surroundings disappeared into nothingness, leaving just me and my grief and the body of my friend. My breath was taken away. I was stabbed. I drowned.

But no music.

In the corrider I escaped to and in the private stairwell and at the ranch that night I felt trapped, ambushed. Without a soundtrack.

But I can't be too hard on you. You do have to deal with the fate of us nonfictional characters-- You bear the burden everyday of those watching you forgetting about your pain. When your drama is over I don't think about you for another week. Maybe that is best. Sometimes having all eyes on you can be kind of stressful.

I'll give you your space, if you give me mine.

I guess that's all I have to say right now. Keep doing what you are doing. Whether you acknowledge it or not, God uses you. So be diligent and do not grow weary. There's a song I'm listening to right now by this guy named Rich Mullins. I'd like to share the lyrics with you. It relaxes me. It reminds me that God is in control, but not in the same way people who say "God is in control," mean. But that is another story altogether. Maybe sometime later I'll go into that deeper. In the meantime, here are the words. Go buy the album. You have the money...

Home

I see the morning moving over the hills
I can see the shadows on the western side
And all those illusions that I had
They just vanish in Your light
I can feel the warmth of morning on my face
Though the chill in the night still hangs in the air
Though the storm had tossed me
'Til I thought I'd nearly lost my way

And now the night is fading and the storm is past
And everything that could be shaken was shaken
And all that remains is all I ever really had

What I'd have settled for
You've blown so far away
What You brought me to
I thought I could not reach
And I came so close to giving up
But You never did give up on me
I see the morning moving over the hills
I feel the rush of life here where the darkness broke
And I am in You and You're in me
Here where the winds of Heaven blow

And now the night is fading
And the storm is through
And everything You sent to shake me
From my dreams they come to wake me
In the love I find in You
And now the morning comes
And everything that really matters
Become the wings You send to gather me
To my home
To my home
I'm going home

Validation...

When I finished reading the Advent thing tonight I sat down on the pew and a wave of tears came out of nowhere. It was at that point that I realized something that had never occured to me before: Any time I preached or wrote something or did absolutely anything on stage at church, I could care less what anyone thought about it. Except for one person-- Kyle. I realize how messed up that is, or was, but that's the dealio. I craved his approval. We all did.

At the first service in Truett we read through Kyle's God in the Movies sermon for "Garden State." Most people cried the most when Kyle's conclusion was read. I cried the most during a clip from the movie. Zach Braff and Natalie Portman are burying her hamster and they are supposed to say something nice about the dead. Portman's character made the comment "I hope you liked me."

And I lost it there. From second one I wanted Kyle to like me. Everyone did. Now I'm stuck with the (probably emotionally unhealthy) question-- what do I do now for validation.

Isn't that what we are all looking for? Oprah said it the other day. (I don't watch Oprah much, but I was home and she was on-- don't judge me.) She recognized several years back that all people really want is validation. I think that's one of the simplest truths about human behavior I know now.

I hope he liked me. I know he did. But that didn't stop my need for validation.

---------------------------------------
One more thing, somewhat related to the previous comments. That site meter I installed has messed with my head. I check it about three times a day to see how many people are reading my blog. It really is quite narcissistic. I need your validation. But at the same time, the more people read the more pressure I feel to write cool stuff. I'll probably screw up a lot, but I still hope you keep reading.

Last night I watched CMT Crossroads (I've talked about it before.) The musical choice wasn't my favorite-- it was Lionel Ritchie and Kenny Rogers, but their banter between songs was amazing. They had wonderful conversations about songwriting. Ritchie said that years ago he brought a song he had written to a producer. The song had a lot of pretty words, metaphors and similes galore. The producer said it was crap. The producer then asked him what he was trying to say with all of this. When Ritchie told him, the producer said "Then write that."

That's what I'm going to try to do more of. When I try to be cool I usually fail miserably.

I'm going to try and steal a play from Blake's playbook and write about my friends in the next few weeks.
--------------------------

Last thing.... the site meter tells me there's a lot of people form Kilgore, Gladewater, and Longview reading along. These scare me the most, because it increases the chances that members of my family are reading. For most people, honesty becomes more difficult around family, and I try to be as honest as possible. So, all that to say-- by any chance are there other Nash's and Reed's reading along?

Advent...

(This is a thing I wrote for our Advent service tonight. A couple of people have asked for it, so I thought I'd just post it. Sometimes when I cut and paste from word, it gets a little messed up. So please excuse the apparent typos.)

-----------------------------------------------------

Sometime around the beginning of October our culture places its collective foot on the accelerator and pushes down hard. It wants to get to Christmas as fast as possible.

Advent is us putting our foot on the brakes.

Advent is about waiting. Waiting with pregnant anticipation.

Advent is us looking around and seeing who we are, where we are, and what we need….and waiting.

Advent is us looking around and seeing who we are. We are many things. Above all else we are children of, followers of, lovers of…God.

Advent is us looking around and seeing where we are. Many of us are in the land of despair, of grief, of sorrow.

Advent is us looking around and seeing what we need. We need to be rescued. Rescued from the land of despair, grief, and sorrow.

During the time of Advent we look back, and remember. We remember a time and a people…our people…who were in need of rescue…and who were rescued. The Song of Zechariah: “He set the power of salvation in the center of our lives, and in the very house of David his servant, Just as he promised long ago through the preaching of his holy prophets: Deliverance from our enemies and every hateful hand; Mercy to our fathers, as he remembers to do what he said he'd do, What he swore to our father Abraham-- a clean rescue from the enemy camp, So we can worship him without a care in the world, made holy before him as long as we live.

During the time of Advent we look forward, in anticipation of our future deliverance and take heart. The words of John: “I saw Heaven and earth new-created. Gone the first Heaven, gone the first earth, gone the sea. I saw Holy Jerusalem, new-created, descending resplendent out of Heaven, as ready for God as a bride for her husband. I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: "Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They're his people, he's their God. He'll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good--tears gone, crying gone, pain gone--all the first order of things gone." The Enthroned continued, "Look! I'm making everything new. Write it all down--each word dependable and accurate." Then he said, "It's happened. I'm A to Z. I'm the Beginning, I'm the Conclusion. From Water-of-Life Well I give freely to the thirsty. Conquerors inherit all this. I'll be God to them, they'll be sons and daughters to me.”

As the people of long ago, we wait. We wait for a child. For a king. For rescue. For love, hope, peace, and joy, we wait. With enormous expectation, we wait.

Death is the worst, but by no means the only form of loss.

Of all the people who have reached out to comfort me over the past few weeks, only a handful know the scope of my Autumn of Loss.

I'm pretty much an open book. It's not hard to get to know me. Of course there are things underneath the surface that remain hidden, but everyone contains multitudes. I am not unique in that regard. But for the most part I'm a pretty simple person. I want to be happy. I want to know God. I want you to like me. That's basically it. And that makes me a person who makes friends fairly easily.

As I get older I realize who I am and who I'm not. I'm not a social butterfly. I'm not someone who inspires action among the masses.

I am someone you'd want to watch "Ed" with. I am a fan of friendships that breathe life into my soul by virtue of their simplicity and vulnerability.

I chose three.
In August, one took his bride to Germany.
In October, the feet of one became jubilant.
Tomorrow, another leaves.

Those few that know how deep this cuts don't say anything, but I know they know. They are the ones with the most tender looks, the most understanding hugs. They refuse to try and make things better with their words. They know that suggesting "replacements" is just salt in the wound.

I'll just let this taper off right..... here.

Today, I post twice...

I've got to say something...

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY JASON AND CHRISTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I LOVE Y'ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Respectfully,

Craig.

Being Known...

David, being better with words than most people in the world, put it well-- it really is a beautiful cemetery. He has two large trees on either side of him. One has a perfect indentation for sitting and talking to him. It's actually quite comfortable. And if you haven't been there yet, the rumors are true-- It's across the street from a playground. With a soccer field on the other side. Can you believe it?

And it's just off of LaSalle. LaSalle! Other than Franklin, LaSalle is probably the ugliest major street in Waco. Then you make a turn off of 5th, and you are surrounded by beauty. The night his dad mentioned a beautiful cemetery right off LaSalle, I thought he was probably mistaken. The only beautiful thing off LaSalle is University Parks and University Parks is only beautiful because it takes you to I-35 and away from Waco.

I realize the subjectivity and improvability of this statement, but I just have to make it. Today may have been the most beautiful day ever in the history of Waco, TX. Sun. Seventy Five degrees. Not a cloud in the sky. Cool breeze. Colorful.

I visited him today. It was the first time I went without crying. It was also the first time I went without sharing him with someone else. His is a popular sight.

Being close friends with Kyle the pastor, I knew I had to share him with others. I didn't mind. I knew the joy he brought to everyone. Usually when I drive up to see him now, I'll wait back a little if someone else is with him.

I don't say much. He knows.
He says nothing. He doesn't need to.

Ours was one of those special gift-of-a-friendships. One that, unfortunately, most people don't have. One where I never had to know what he thought about me. I knew. He told me.

Go, and do likewise. Spend Thanksgiving telling your family and friends how much you love them. Pour it on lavishly. Be embarrassing. Be foolish.

Live life to the fullest.

Something to Read...

So I've become kind of a connoisseur of books on grief these days. I never knew how plentiful they are, and I work in a bookstore.

One that has really meant a lot to me is "Lament for a Son," written by Nicholas Wolterstorff. It's a little book that has his short reflections after the death of his son at age 25 in a mountain climbing accident. Wolterstorff has given words to my pain. If you're home for Thanksgiving and have some free time, you should grab you a copy.

Here's something from it...

"Someone said to Claire, 'I hope you're learning to live at peace with Eric's death.'

Peace, shalom, salaam. Shalom is the fullness of life in all dimensions. Shalom is dwelling in justice and delight with God, with neighbor, with oneself, in nature. Death is shalom's mortal enemy. Death is demonic. We cannot live at peace with death.

When the writer of Revelation spoke of the coming of the day of shalom, he did not say that on that day we would live at peace with death. He said that on that day 'There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'

I shall try to keep the wound from healing, in recognition of our living still in the old order of things. I shall try to keep it from healing, in solidarity with those who sit beside me on humanity's mourning bench."

Losing my Illusion...

On the day it happened I was working in Children's Church. I had the little kids-- the boys and a two year old girl. I was teaching the lesson of the baby Moses on flannel board. Remember those things? They still capture kids attention, decades after they caught mine. (I use the word "teach" loosely. I was mainly trying to narrate the story while the boys made the characters do what they wanted them to do.)

The music from the sanctuary stopped abruptly. I didn't think much of it.

A few seconds later the mother of the little girl came in. She said she wanted to be with her daughter. Someone was electrocuted.

A few weeks earlier a cover fell off one the ceiling lights, almost hitting someone in the crowd. It was harmless, just a piece of plastic.

I told myself this fell into that category.

Then others came into the nursery. Jamie told me it was Kyle.

All I could do was return to the flannel board to finish the story. I was afraid. I told God to let my fear be my prayer. I said that over and over. Let my fear be my prayer.

Much of the rest is a blur. Someone came in and said they were taking him to the hospital. Jen wanted me to take the kids home. I pulled the car around the back, loaded them up, and headed to their house.

Let my fear be my prayer.

Somewhere in the midst of getting the kids out, the story was being passed around that he still had a pulse.

Let my fear be my prayer. He still has a pulse. Let my fear be my prayer.

He didn't have a pulse, but that's what I was told so that's what I was going to believe.

After being home for a few moments many people came over to help out. Tracey got a call. She called me outside. I saw her face and knew.

Meg rode with me to the hospital. Tracey hadn't said anything. I knew. But still, she hadn't said anything.

As we approached the hospital I told myself that if I stayed in the car, it wouldn't have to be true.

Let my fear be my prayer. He still has a pulse. If I stay in the car, it wouldn't have to be true. Let my fear be my prayer.

I got out of the car.

Tonight was our Thanksgiving Love Feast. A lot of people have been writing very moving and raw and wonderful things about looking for him. (Like HERE.)

Tonight I caught myself laughing at something, then turning my head to look for him.

I was looking for him.

I wished at that moment I was still in the car holding on to my illusion that he still had a pulse and that God would hear my prayer.

What I Want You To Know...

During those two days many people I haven't seen in quite a while came up to me, offered a hug and their condolences, and then said "I keep up with you through your blog."

Whatthewhothewhat?

I suspected I had a readership of 8-10, but apparently I was wrong. So, out of pure, unadulterated vanity, I installed a site meter.

Wow. There are a lot of you's out there.

Here's me using your attention for what I hope is good:

You obviously spend at least a moderate amount of time on the internet, which is good. We need to be informed. Many of you have run across this guy named "Paul Proctor," and have peppered Emergent blogs with your ire towards him.

Do me a favor. Stop. Let this be the last time you consider responding to this guy. I know this is hard, but try to let this be the last time you even give him another inch of your thought space. Mr. Proctor thinks he's right, thinks he has God on his side. He (and his readers) thought that before Kyle died, they'll probably be thinking that up until their own deaths. I know people like this. (I grew up in East Texas, remember?) They operate in their own angry universe and have created for themselves a shell of protection (their literal-and-furious interpretation of Scripture) that shields them from things like common sense and the Love of Jesus.

Becoming angry at this guy and trying to reason with him is not living, and it's definitely not living well.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got two turkeys to make.

Chilled...

The past few days have gotten cold here in Central Texas. I've started wearing the leather jacket he gave me back in January, when Jen made him clean out his closet to get rid of stuff he no longer wore.

I'll never be half as cool as he was wearing that jacket.
I'll never be half as warm wearing anything else.

Everywhere...

Don't be fooled by what some people think they know about us. At UBC, we are Jesus People.

About once every few months Kyle would get emails from well meaning Defenders of the Faith who had traveled to see the church where David Crowder leads worship. (Usually their journey began in College Station, but that's neither here nor there.) They all had many words. They only needed six... "Where was Jesus in your service?"

Their laser-like mind walked into our building with one goal in sight, to hear the word "Jesus," and the accompanying pretty Jesus-words... "Blood", "salvation", "God's-fame", and the most necessary to our generation of Christian consumers, "God's Glory."

They left the building without being able to check the words off their list, so they carried out assumptions about us that they felt free to share with others as fact.

Yesterday we had our last Wednesday night service for the year at Truett's Great Hall. I walked in with Josh and Lindsay, who had me over to their apartment beforehand for dinner. I spoke with Tracey for a second, hugged Matt, sat down next to Amanda, and the service started. Ben made a few announcements about where we'd be for the next few meetings and about Thanksgiving Love feast. We sang some songs (about Jesus,) watched a Nooma video and listened to Ben talk about Ecclesiastes. We prayed (to God, in Jesus' name) then dismissed.

At the end of the service I realized that for the first time in two weeks the name "Kyle" was never mentioned. Not once.

If you were in the service and told me we have forgotten about Kyle because his name was never mentioned, I'd look you in the eye and call you a damn fool. Did you not feel it, thick as a sweater? Did you not see the tears? The laughter? When we looked into each others eyes did you not see what we were thinking, communicating to each other? When Thanksgiving Lovefeast was mentioned, was it not evident that hearts and souls were aching with the realization that this year, yes, this year is the first time we get together and tell God "thank you" for giving us a life that is no longer with us?

I can cheapen anyone's name by saying it over and over. Modern day Christian songsmiths make a fortune doing that.

I'd rather you know why we gather without even mentioning it. I'd rather you hear us sing "Every ocean, every sea, every river, every stream, every blade of grass will sing," and instinctively know Why we sing and from Where our song comes. If you need clarification, stick around a bit. Put your checklist away, eat some turkey with us, and you'll find out soon enough.

Today...

In the past I've heard people talk about the numbness. The disbelief. In the past I thought I knew what they were talking about, but I had no idea.

Before October 30 I assumed the numbness associated with grief was a sort of walking nothingness. An emptiness characterized by something being taken away. But it seems that the only thing taken away has been Kyle. And in his place is not nothing...It's something. It's like a dense chunk of metallic matter that cannot be removed from any of my moments. It's in my pockets. It's on my shoulder.

Emptiness is not nothing. It's something. It's something large and impenetrable.

And it makes me ask questions that there are no answers for.

How do I live in a world without Kyle?
When I'm really excited about something, who will I call?
What does Craig at 32...45...73, experiencing life, love, marriage, kids, changes, hilarious times, sad times... do without Kyle?
When is it ok to cry again? When will I stop feeling the something that is nothing?

Yeah, I feel the numbness alright. And it's a damn bitch if you ask me.

Good...

Yesterday was the first day I felt comfortable saying "Good" whenever anyone would ask the obligatory-in-Texas-greeting "How are you?" The first few days people didn't ask, because they saw my eyes. About a week later they asked hesitantly, and I would reply either "Ok" or "I'm hanging in there." But yesterday I said "Good" and meant it.

There is fear that comes with saying I am doing well. Because I am not, of course, doing totally well. I am injured. I am empty. But I do have Jason here with me. Christy will be here later today. Today is Sunday, so n a couple of hours I'll see all the people that make me smile and laugh and know that we will get through this.

The other night at our retreat we went through one of those cool ancient-postmodern-whatever labrynths. I was reminded of Jesus feeling forsaken. Of being hurt and left alone. I was reminded that my faith is in a God that allows us to feel hurt and left alone but who never hurts us or leaves us alone.

So, yeah, "good" is an appropriate word.

Friday Morning...

I hadn't cried in two days until I was reading through Kyle's emails for last nights posts. I then went to bed at 7:30 and cried until I fell asleep. Woke up 10 minutes ago-- at 7:00 a.m.

As I said, mornings aren't bad. Mornings give me hope.

What We Lose...

On Blake's recommendation, I started to read C.S. Lewis' "A Grief Observed" today. It's basically his journal of what it was like grieving over the death of his wife. Truth rings louder in the book than it would have two weeks ago.

Lewis stated that one of his greatest fears is of forgetting, and when I read that I gave a hearty "Amen." I've got pictures and memories and other people to remind me, but I'm terrified to death of forgetting Kyle's voice and laugh and facial expressions.

The people we made fun of the most were the people who most thought they had it together. We used to mimick those people.

I kept many of the emails he sent, and I'm glad. A couple of weeks ago I asked him to critique my preaching. In the midst of his reply he said...

"At this point in the conversation, I'd probably go into a long discourse on how that very difference lies at the heart of postmodernism but you probably wouldn't get it so I'll save that for my smarter friends."

While talking about an exercise of Scripture reading practiced by Ignatius, he wrote this...

"And yes, Ignatius was from the 16th century, not the 15th. You
were probably thinking 15th."

Those are some of the things I miss.

I started this post wanting to tell about Kyle's humor and how I'll miss it more than anything. In doing so I perused dozens of emails and realized there are things I will miss ten times more. They are the short emails. The one's that read, simply...

From : Kyle Lake
Sent : Wednesday, June 8, 2005 1:57 PM
To : "Craig Nash"
Subject : reading

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Hey--I've just now begun reading the David Sedaris book you got me about 8 years ago--Me Talk Pretty One Day. Let the reading begin!



And...

From : Kyle Lake
Sent : Tuesday, March 8, 2005 3:51 AM
To : "Craig Nash"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


hey dude--what's up?

down here in Houston doing Birkman training...I'm absolutely loving this stuff (so far)
I'll fill you in more when I get back. Very fascinating stuff.

Kyle



And the one I'll miss the most, that came almost every Monday morning...

From : Kyle Lake
Sent : Wednesday, August 25, 2004 3:17 AM
To : "Craig Nash"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


What's happening with ya this week?





______________________________________
That's what tears me up inside.

100 Feet Up...

(I don't really want to write anything. But anytime I experienced significant things in my life, Kyle would always tell me to write it down. So I'll try it a little at a time.)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seems like the back collar of my shirt was lifted up by God's gigantic hands that Sunday and I was placed a mile in the air, feet on a tightrope stretched before me, and told to walk.

I could fall to the left into my grief where there was pain and anguish that led to good thoughts of a life well lived. Or I could fall to the right into thoughts of a life well lived that eventually led to pain and anguish at what I have lost. Either way I fell I ended up there and then somewhere else.

On Sunday I tricked myself into thinking the hard part was over, and then Monday came. Monday morning was ok. In fact, all the mornings have seemed ok. I think it's because I generally worked in the mornings and Kyle always worked in the mornings and our friendship took a break during the A.M. (In fact, Kyle used to do sermon work at Barnes and Noble in the mornings and Common Grounds in the afternoons. He went full time at Common Grounds when I started working at BN, just so he could get work done.) Mornings my mind was on one thing, his on another, and we had very little contact.

Monday afternoon, though, the night came. A needed word on the phone from a friend sent me spiraling down, off the tightrope, into the dark. I got home, went to bed at 8:00 (aided by liquid sleep,) and didn't get up until 5:00 a.m. on Tuesday.

I have to remind myself that I am not the only one walking up here. There are others who grieve as much as me. I need to reach over and help them balance.

Or, perhaps, I need to remind them, as I have been reminded, that in this balancing act, a Net has been provided.

I could be wrong, but I get the impression that many of you are waiting for me to post something before you move forward. Well here's something, so move forward.

What can I say? There are times when I am with people or alone and I feel peace. I feel that, well, it's a tragedy, but maybe things will be ok. Worship this morning grounded me. It reminded me Who my trust is in. Being with my church family at lunch and laughing with them and making plans together was refreshing. Those things happen.

And then the night comes.

The night comes in the afternoon and in the morning and at night and, really, whenever the hell it pleases.

I then realize that things actually may not be ok. My best friend is gone. There are three kids without their daddy and a wonderful lady without her husband.

Rest assured and don't lose heart-- I do not blame God. The person who has helped me get through Kyle's death is Kyle. The God Kyle worshipped, the God Kyle modeled and who I adopted because of Kyle, is a God who does not cause all things to happen, but allows us to live in a world where fatal accidents happen and who grieves with us.

All I can say is what David has said...

"Lord I'm tired
So tired from walking
And Lord I'm so alone
Amd Lord the dark is creeping in
Creeping up
To swallow me
I think I'll stop
Rest here awhile

And didn't you see me crying?
And didn't you here me call your name?
Wasn't it you I gave my heart to?
I wish you'd remember where you set it down."