...and I don�t know if the way you smell is just nestled in my nose, or if you�ve left it on my skin� but although I�m on the bus ride home, I can still remember the way you hands felt in mine, the way you grin, your grue*-colored eyes, and I can still smell you.

And it makes my heart race.

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Concert today. Last time I�ll sing with my swing choir. Tomorrow will be the last time I�ll sing with the chorus this year. And last time we�ll see the seniors this way. I know it sounds ridiculous, but will we see them again? I mean, really see them as we see them now?

I�m not so sure it�ll be the same.

Singing with them now is bittersweet. And seeing them sing is even worse.
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LOUDER THAN WORDS: by Jonathan Larson

Jonathan: �Why do we play with fire?
Why do we run our fingers through the flame?
Why do we leave our hand on the stove-
Although we know we�re in for some pain?

Oh why, do we refuse to hang a light
When the streets are dangerous?
Why does it take an accident
Before the truth gets through to us?

Cages or wings?
Which do you prefer?
Ask the birds.

Fear or love, baby?
Don�t say the answer;
Actions speak louder than words.

*Grue- (Adj.) Blue-and-green eyes. In this case, blue, con ring of green on the inside.