a small windy road makes its way through a small town named Stamford, New York

Enjoy what you have now; we may never be here again. Remember this day well it only happens just this once. This day like any other day; 24 hours that pass you by. Remember this day well we may never return.

I am a webmaster; harder for me to believe than for you. Long and lonely hours in front of my computer. Writing Java, HTML, even E-Mail, chat rooms, hyperlinks and more. Such a technological and ever advancing job it is; working at society's golden age of computer technology. The net so powerful even I succumb to the many hours of website design. Alas, I am but an artist displaying my work for all of the world to see and read.

see my reflection in the water full of fish they see my reflection as well

A waterfall surrounded by large rocks; who would dare to venture too close? Only to be swept away by the dangerous yet beautiful fury of rushing waters. I myself venture here. Alas, I merely sit among the rocks just beyond the waters reach. So close to the rushing waters yet totally safe among the rocks. Still I am anything but safe; I am still left vulnerable to the rushing waters of life.

a walk through the woods along this old rocky road trees stand on both sides

I gaze into the endless field of grass. At tall mountains covered with green lush trees. I see rivers, ponds, and fields all within my back yard waiting for me to explore. Alas, I cannot. They're building a freeway right through my yard.

We're so far away, but I am here to stay. It's the virtual me. We're always on-line at just the right time. We sit and we chat; typed messages lacking emotion travel this way and that. We shall never call or meet, send only E-Mail from our seats. How I long to kiss your lips and feel your touch. I cannot. It's the virtual me; I don't support that much.

If life were but a tree the world would finally be as one. Past generations leave their legendary mark among the branches; leaves as people, branches united and known to everyone. Bark surrounds their tiny world; respected and cherished by everyone. Eventually, people would die and fall away; their proud existence known to everyone.

I went downstairs one night to find my parents reading my candle-light "The Misunderstood Child -- 101 Ways To Understand Your Kid" I felt left out; something wasn't right. Was it something I said, or something I did? Maybe I am just different... god forbid.

The Man at the fair stands tall trying to get a passerby to play his game. "Throw a dart pop a balloon win a prize...", He calls out on his loudspeaker as I am drawn in. Drawn into his world of colorful balloons each waiting for the deadly prick of the dart. I throw many a dart as my arm tires and the money slowly drains from my pocket. After all is said and done, the man at the fair hands me a stuffed animal and sends me out into the world of other fair games with various colorful prizes.

An empty page Like a mind without ideas. Think of something. Write of something. Take this boring wasteland; Add ideas to let it flourish. Plant words among the lines. Take this flat single-dimensional surface; Add some words; Add some life And watch your page grow.

Have a suicide plan; Planned out all in my mind. Tell my parents I shall not make it home. Leave me alone It's too late to help me now. Had enough of life; Time to end it all. 3:00 in the afternoon; the bus ride home my final hour. I take the jagged bottle glass Out of my pocket. It is clear, And shimmering in the sunlight. It is jagged on its edges Yet beautiful and cool to the touch; The last thing I shall remember in this life. I slice my wrist to the other the same. My life's blood fades away. I did not cut deep enough. I wake up In an ambulance. My wrists are bandaged and...

Stamford, The place of wonder, to see and explore anything explore the wilderness, climb the mountains, fish the streams and ponds, or read stories to children of castles, pirates, and kings. Take a bicycle ride or relax and think about the day. Eat at the nicest of restaurants sit all day in the prettiest of parks. When I think of Stamford, all of these things come to mind. We live in Stamford; come and share our peaceful life.

I know a place where we can go. It's down by the river; one may listen to the wind blow. Listen to the rushing waters and the wind blowing through a thousand leaves. Leave your troubles behind... come with me to the place of rushing waters, and rustling leaves.