Narrator: It is a warm summer day, and an old man, wizened and wrinkly-eyed but sturdy, walks down a leaf-strewn path and sits on a bench.

He checks his watch, exhales, and then settles.

Across from the path is a gently flowing river, and upon that river is a young crane, separated from his family. The crane approaches the man, his legs dripping water.

Crane: Excuse me sir, can you help me?

Narrator: The man does not respond. In fact, he turns his head, ever so slightly, and watches as a great white dog, shaggy and muscular, approaches the bench. The dog sniffs the old man briefly before climbing into his lap. The old man sighs wordlessly, and holds the dog like a child, sinking into its fur. He stops moving.

Crane: Sir?

Narrator: The crane asks. The man does not respond.

(It's too late)

And, so, too anxious to leave, too scared to back into the water where there might be predators, too afraid it'll hurt or be hurt, he waits. And waits. Rooted to the spot.

(You wanna make it right, but it's too late.
You feel the only way is down.)

Crane: Will you talk to me now?

(Is down. Is down.)

Narrator: He asks, as summer turns to autumn. The man on the bench withers away.

Crane: Please sir, I'm all alone. Can you help me?

Narrator: Autumn turns into winter, and the rain freezes in the crane's feathers, and in his joints, and he is frozen to the spot. Shivering, he watches as the old dog finally saunters away. The old man is barely more than a skeleton now.

Crane: Why do we have to die, sir? Why do we have to suffer?

Hope Charlotte:
It's been almost exactly a year and a month,
and it still doesn't feel real.
God, I thought that you could have been hit by a train
and survived.
Such a clever, kind, strong, young man.
I was so jealous of you just months before you died.
I'm glad to say to your memory that that faded before the last days.
I just wanted you to be okay.
She held the blanket, as she held before -
to care, or to strangle, I don't know, though I often think on it.
But there was no blanket that could have caught your fall;
grey, or blue, or orange.

You didn't have to die, and I don't know if you did.
Four years ago, I would have happily taken your place,
but now I'm sad, and I'm here, and I'm standing in the place
that you've left, untied.
You deserved more peace than you were ever willing to give yourself.

You deserve more peace than you are ever willing to give yourself.