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May 12 1962,
My dearest sister, how are you keeping? Happy birthday.
Now you are 22, you look like our mother.
I was just a boy when you left this world, when we all went away.
Now that I’m a travelling man, I look for you, everywhere I go, in every face I see. Even though somewhere we still meet every day, I never find you.
There is a man who lives on my street, he is my professor and I am his student.
He says - Know this:
Everybody has a purpose, each life is a kind of dream and when we wake up, well that is just dying.
We are the ghosts of the dead.
Our hands are still playing yesterday’s songs of futures that passed. Life whashes them all away, explosing the architect’s secret. The echo of an internal bloom that’s now faded. Each child in time is just made out of memories.
If by some chance this letter should find you, remember these four words: I’ll be seeing you.
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Text and image taken from Echo Street booklet, Amplifier, 2013.
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