Im not very good with goodbyes,

This one is for the school boys and the school girls,

And for the English teacher who lived.

The empty air around the Eiffel tower was stagnant,

I could feel it sticking to my skin,

and strangling my neighbors dog.

Last night I cut my wrist,

I cut my wrist and bled words from my mouth,

I told her how much I wanted to be with her,

and why I stopped writing in all CAPS.

She put out her cigarette with a handful of dreams,

and threw them into the sand.

It caught the attention of that eerie homeless,

and he screamed.

Something about a crystal ball,

something about the Eiffel tower being made half of glass,

and half of a cup of brandy.

He said that in the 1920's

we didn't have to pretend,

we could all go to the carnival,

an ride the rides.

we didn't have to drink to keep friends,

he was talking about her,

and even though her cheeks were that rosy,

and she didn't talk very much she had magic powers.

This girl, she was wearing a dress 

and was covered head to toe in mini chandeliers,

she stood on a tower of non existent greatness.

she said she had dreams of the coast,

driving up and down,

city to city.

Only stopping to pick up tourist,

who had finally found out what it meant to be alive.

people who came to Paris for Paris,

and stayed because they had other places to go,

but wanted to keep the words draining from a broken heart,

into the leather soles of there shoes.

And this is me,

desperately veering from side to side,

sightless, mindless, and caring for nothingness 

on this pathway to poverty and social defeat.

And this is me,

and the tourist I met,

and the Parisians that fed me until I couldn't be fuller.

And for Kyle Nelson,

The Prince of Paris,

the one man on earth who can teach creativity,

who can force me and my pen to create words,

and worlds, and Alaska, and Helen.

The one man who can make teenage boys cry for good reasons,

and make certain 17 year old girls show up to class on time,

can make you realize its OK to be up at 2:47 AM,

as long as you have a pen and blank spot on your arm to write.

When I grow up I want to be just like my Dad

I want to be just like Kyle Nelson,

Because he cares too much,

and didn't kill himself when he could've,

always spoke for himself,

even if its 3 AM,

when a Tweet would do,

because his wife wont listen,

and his heart needs a rest.

This is for Kyle Nelson,

Because he really did change my life.

 

 

Thank you for everything Nelson,

-Tim Thompson