Six

He fell from the sixth floor of his school, six years after being born.

Thats about all I know. That and he's dead.

And tomorrow, dressed in as much black as I can muster, I'll be going to his funeral in the monsoon rain.

I mostly don't know why I am going, other than she asked me to go with her. That and I wouldn't mind grieving something real for once either.
I want the cold rough edges to show love's meaning to me again.

6 o'clock tomorrow, in the yellow evening bangkok rain, i hope to extract some life from death.

as selfish as that may be