She grew up and turned out nothing like she had ever expected.nWhen she reflects she thinks about her Barbies and dresses.nTwenty-nine, doing time on the edge of her bed,nLaughing to herself about the big tattoo on her forehead.nShe's innocent, but she was close to the edge,nOne more step and she probably would have been dead.nIt's ironic how she got here, but she's glad to be alive.nShe says to herself—nn“How does this happen? How do we know?”nnLying in this deathbed, he looks around in disbelief.nHe made it to one hundred, but this is strange, don't you think?nThe people around him he's only known for thirty years.nHe takes one of his last breaths and accepts life is weird.nWhere's the first wife and childhood best friend?nWhen he was twenty he used to imagine the endnFull of faces from people he knew back then,nBut, “Oh, well, life was so good,” he says.nnHe used to play music and turn it up loud.nAfter so many years, hearing loss was bound to happen.nHe's learning to sign, but he wants to cry.nWithout the music in his head he says he couldn't survive.nHe writes albums a day that will never be heard,nNot even by him. Isn't that a shame?nHe knows it's life and part of his path.nHe still has his past, and now he doesn't have to listen to anyone.nnI'll wait for you in the dark where no one else can find us.nI'll be watching. I'll be waiting here for you.