He thought me to be a good man, honest, humble and loyal.
He called me his own man, fed me with good morals.
he always desired a place among immortals, like him i did too
never was i alone, he help me through my first test, papa was my first word, lessons were well taught, i learnt.
he was a relief whenever struggles had my back bent.
Real men don't cry, was his way of saying never show weakness.
this isn't one of those letters in your brief case, it is a grief case,
because in this phase life has less grace moving at a rare pace,
memories calling out memories of seasons from seasons and reasons are unfathomable
what i speak of is a germ, a man with born-abilities cant see vulnerabilities, a friendship, a bond a life immersed in another.
real men don't cry, since this tears have become so precious, they'll never drop for nothing. so whenever i miss a real man,
i relive your last smile from your dead bed before a let a tear drop dead.
please forgive me for when i get high of our memories, shades of dust can be seen through teardrops.