No surprises why I can’t get this song out of my head.
It’s a nice day today in London. No rain, a bit of sun, birds tweeting and all that.
But all I can see is the image of a little kid resplendent in his Sunday best, all grown up teeth and big brown eyes, smiling into a camera and holding a sign with his name on it, that is burned into my retinas.
It is the first thing that has made me want to cry for months.
I don’t like crying. My first instinct? Take more meds. Tamp down the feeling.
But somehow that doesn’t seem right.
I may hide in this little flat from the horrors of the world, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen and won’t affect me.
So maybe I should get off my arse, and follow my heartfelt urge to be of use to people whilst I still can.
God alone knows how the loved ones of the dead and suffering must be feeling. What I feel pales in comparison.
God speed little one. I hope the person that tore you from the fabric of this life can live with themselves for what they have done.
Actually scratch that, I hope that, like me, they cannot get your image out of their head and that it stays there, day after day, night after night until they finally meet their maker.