Personal Narrative-Mikey Way

I did get to see him that day. In the end, all that is found is a fading memory; a vanishing thought. I tried to find the good that lies inside the fateful day, but there is no exit to the distressing scene that lay before the mausoleum doors.
When I see Frank now, he is not alone; his lips linger airily on another 's - whom I can identify as Mikey Way.

Even if I were to look between the lines, I can see nothing but betrayal, although we had never been together; we had never been enough. What spell, I wonder, has he cast upon me, for I have never felt pain as explosive as this before. It was like dying in every painful way you can imagine; it was hell for me to witness such a thing. Gorgeous faith turned into repulsing anger, and although

Fucking idiot too, leaving your door unlocked like that. It 's a bad neighborhood, kid."

"Gee, thanks, Bob!"

"Welcome, Gerard. C 'mon, you look pretty - you always look pretty, and you know it."

Little did I know, the last few minutes of our friendship had begun. I could feel the death of it all coming, but I could do nothing; no one could do anything to stop what was coming, for fate had willed it, and it was about to happen.

Oh, how I have tried to rid myself of the grief; but alas, my hopes of forgetting Frank are for naught, as we had already made our memories together. Any hopes I had of moving on had become something straight out of a fantasy; a memory I once knew; something which cannot be grasped.

But there was always the alternative; the possible exit; there was always Bob Bryar.

I looked at him, searching for the answers that cannot be found, for he is like an impossible puzzle to me. Even if I were to look all around, there is nothing clear about Bob. He is a torn and frayed page from that book called life; a question without answers; and how, I wonder, can I make a painting without a canvas? For Bob wasn 't a person to me; he was nothing but a strange feat for me to