The spark sprang up in Mercutio, smoldering within Falstaff to finally burst raw upon the tongue of the departed prince. It was as bright upon his lips too. In that fire flushed face laughter burned more scarlet than in any naked ember. Words which were forged in the world springing song forward instantaneously sculpted newly breath forged worlds. Taught to read the breath of the dead as if the heat of that departed hand were imprinted in a flaring plume upon each opened page.
Memory becomes an impressionist smear and blurs at our calling.
What is true is a greater music which resounds, reverberates, continues ringing clear within the orbit of every single cell. Wade boldly across running waters to the Elysian throng you loved from afar and who love you now warming with each anticipated stride. From the nearer shore whispered over and over. As vast as a sigh. We shall never, never look upon his like again .