Dear John,

If you thought the altitude was bad in Colorado, you should feel it up here.

In one breath, I am gone.

Sometimes, my mind goes with it...

You used to say I was elsewhere; I'm starting to think you were right.

When I was five, my father gave me the world in a plastic ball, 

But it never bounced high enough.

My lungs were stronger than he could ever know. It was never enough.

I wish you could see it up here, John, I really do.

But you've got your world

And your home. 

Fifteen years ago to this minute it broke. 

And you were content.