I've got nothing on my mind: Nothing to remember,
Nothing to forget. And I've got nothing to regret,
But I'm all tied up on the inside,
No one knows quite what I've got;
And I know that on the outside
What I used to be, I'm not anymore.

You know I've heard about people like me,
But I never made the connection.
They walk one road to set them free
And find they've gone the wrong direction.

And how do I choose and where do I draw the line
Between truth and necessary pain?
And how do I know and where do I get my belief
That things will be all right again?

Standing in the shadows
With my heart right in my hand,
Removed from all the people
Who could never understand.

I was a pilgrim for your love.

Men always want to be a woman's first love. Women have a more subtle instinct: What they like is to be a man's last romance.
~ Oscar Wilde ~

You and your sweet smile
You and your tantalizing ways
You and your honey lips
You and all the sweet things that they say
You and your wild wild ways
One day you just up and walked away

O Beauty, out of many a cup
You have made me drunk and wild
Ever since I was a child,
But when have I been sure as now
That no bitterness can bend
And no sorrow wholly bow
One who loves you to the end?
And though I must give my breath
And my laughter all to death,
And my eyes through which joy came,
And my heart, a wavering flame;
If all must leave me and go back
Along a blind and fearful track
So that you can make anew,
Fusing with intenser fire,
Something nearer your desire;
If my soul must go alone
Through a cold infinity,
Or even if it vanish, too,
Beauty, I have worshiped you.

Let this single hour atone
For the theft of all of me.

Perhaps it is to feel strike
the silver fish of her nakedness
with fins sharply pleasant,my

youth has travelled toward her these years

or to snare the timid like
of her mind to my mind that i
am come by little countries to the yes
of her youth.

Where are you Christmas?
Why can't I find you?
Why have you gone away?
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me?
Do you remember
The one you used to know?
I'm not the same one,
See what the time's done
Is that why you have let me go?

Author's Notes: Pepsi and Dove bars to Whoa Nellie (both of you) for your suggestions and your services as the official Vash consultant on deck; filling in the details of Vash that I had forgotten from the handful of episodes that featured her helped me greatly in revising this.

This is just a short bit, not even really a story -- I tried to knock out a little backstory for certain conversations later on. Thought I'd throw it on the site FWIW.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Once I said to a scarecrow, "You must be tired of standing in this lonely field."
And he said, "The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I never tire of it."
Said I, after a minute of thought, "It is true; for I too have known that joy."
Said he, "Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it."
Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled me.
A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.
And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest under his hat.

~~ Excerpt from The Madman by Kahlil Gibran

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water

If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock

He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mother's hand

Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself
at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you can't hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside

Birds on the roof of my mother's house
I've no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mother's house
Will sit on my roof someday
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the rain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower to the rain

Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
I'd be the blood of the Lazarus heart
The blood of the Lazarus heart

And I can tell by the way you're talking
That the past isn't letting you go
But there's only so long you can take it all on
And then the wrong's gotta be on its own
And when you're ready to leave it behind you
You'll look back, and all that you'll see
Is the wreckage and rust that you left in the dust
On your way to the jubilee

Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice but to carry on.
The fortunes of fables are able to see the stars,
now witness the quickness with which we carry on
to sing the blues, you've got to live the dues, and carry on.

Girl, when I was on my own chasing you down,
what was it made you run, tryin' your best just to get around.
The questions of a thousand dreams what you do and what you see
lover, can you talk to me?

Against change of fortune set a brave heart.

~ French Proverb ~

A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.

~ Gene Roddenberry ~

Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today.

~ Mark Twain ~

If I had my hand full of truth, I would take good care how I opened it.
~ Bernard Le Bovier Fontenelle ~

Expect the best, plan for the worst, and prepare to be surprised.
~ Denis Waitley ~

What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson ~