If I could extract a seed from your baby brother's heart, I would plant it back into this earth right where he belongs. I promise I would watch him grow into the most beautiful maple tree that New England has ever seen or that Los Angeles could ever believe in. And as the seasons change, its colors, they will too turn into a dark red, just like, oh just like. And through the wind and through the cold, your leaves will stay, they will not fall or crumble but they will stay up to remind me that maybe I have been wrong, maybe I have been wrong all along. After they say that we have died, maybe somewhere we are still alive.