"It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening."

He ran long fingers through his unkempt blond hair. The music wafted in open windows but so did the chill as the man. It was too late, too early, too much. Memories swept through his mind like ghosts screaming for remembrance as his pen hesitated, unsure what to write about. There was so much to talk about yet little to say. It had been so long. Perhaps it was only the drink that brought on this sentimentality.

"I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record."

The man had heard about this from the woman who worked the bar. The letter should have been written sooner but the man had put it off until now when it was too late. There was no address that he could send it to; the recipient had stumbled off in a drunken state raving about going to build a house according to the barista. The man could not help but give a sad smile at this news. When the two friends had spoken of dreams the one that this letter was to would talk about how he wished to build a perfect house in the desert. The descriptions had been so detailed back then.

"Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?"

The blond man closed his eyes tightly at this memory.

His love, his goddess had come to his door that rainy night. The music from the window had been soften by the water and was playing an unfitting upbeat tune for the weather. Her dark hair had been the same colour as the night sky and her eye were not the stars to light her face that they normally were. The gold globes had been dulled with tears, like the music soften and not holding their usual power. In her mocha hands she held a lock of drenched hair.

Holding out as if it were a sacrifice she'd wept to the only person she felt would listen. "He left." She started, her voice shaking as she stood in the doorway. The man had been moved almost to tears at the sight of what she had been reduced to. "He told me that he wanted to end it." Her body moved as though with convulsions with her sods and the man suppressed a shiver, the urge to hold her in his arms. He could do nothing for her. She had failed him first. So he turned away, letting her into his home but shutting his heart. He offered her no sympathy.

"Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene"

Unsure of what else to say the pen pressed against the paper to form an inky smudge.

The young man that he had shared his dreams with had been lost sometime before his friend's last visit. That last time it had been a ghost of the young man's self. The image down to the coat but like the tear, there was something missing, a discrepancy of the soul. The blond man had noticed it in the way the once eager eyes now watched trains pass as if they were lost opportunities with a tired gaze. But he put it down to lost love.

"And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife."

She'd always been hard to hold onto the man thought he sat back in his chair, looking towards the window with a wistful gaze lost in the past.

Before she had never been subtle around men, she had simply done as she pleased with a teasing smile. But this had been different. Before he had always been the one in her heart, the smiles meant nothing. And afterwards, after the night of rain she had been silent for days. Her heart had not opened since and it was no longer his. Sometimes he'd find her sitting in the kitchen sucking on a piece of ice. Answering the question he did not dare ask, the woman would reply, "I want to keep my heart frozen. I don't want to hurt." At that he would wrap her in his arms, not quite able to feel that he was really holding her.

"Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake –"

At the first sound of a variance of the breathing pattern from the bed behind him, the man put his pen down and turned to meet the glowing moon eyes. "So you are finally doing it?" It was not really a question because she knew. Immediately he was there beside her, giving her forehead a kiss. Who it was meant to reassure he did not know, but he guessed that it only served himself. "Then tell him that I say 'hi'." She gave a tired smile before turning over.

"She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way."

As hard as it had been to do, he had forgiven his friend. What's more was that he wished to see him again. Whether to punch him or hug him he did not know. When these feelings had arisen out of the betrayal and hatred, the blond did not know. Perhaps it was the news of the disappearance, perhaps it was before that. But somewhere along the line he had abandon the sadness and adopted a reluctant gratitude. Without his friend's help he could not have realized what he had to lose.

"If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free."

Releasing a held sigh, the man looked down at what he had just written. As painful as it was if his friend returned there would be no resistance from him if his love chose to leave. If he could not have her love then he wished for her happiness. And if she lost that happiness he would be there to catch her fall. He always would be. It was not unlike when she used to disappear, he would not stop her if that was what she wanted, but he would always wait for her to return.

"Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried."

Because he had seen the way her eyes had smiled with her lips, her whole body carefree and radiant. It had been wonderful and so long since he had seen that look. For years he had looked at the sides of her mouth growing heavy with trouble and worry and he had felt despair because he had not known what to do. So he hadn't even begun to try and resigned himself. But his friend had known and for a short while she had been all that the blond man remembered her to be, his carefree goddess.

"And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear."

Not at a loss for words but this time finished the man folded the letter and put a corner of it in the fire, holding it until it almost burnt his fingers. The letter sent, he closed the window and lay down in the bed, sliding under the sheets and placing a pale arm around his lover's dark stomach. Closing his eyes as he rested his head against her shoulder and for the first time in a while he slept.