And it was all because of something dark, yet accumulating light. Something originally melacholy, yet feeling increasingly happy. Something which bled and cried, but was now weeping and seeping much less. Rather, it was someone. Casimir. My Casimir, as I liked to think of him at times. Whenever I recalled that cool summer night in the beginning of July – in the year of 1989 – I remembered when I met him. The softness of his skin as I briefly kissed his cheek. The blue striped hankerchief. Presently, it was nearing the end of August, and I did not want to say goodbye to him. I simply couldn’t. The time had gone by slowely, and I learned to savor each moment, but I yearned to stay longer. As I talked with Casimir in his room one afternoon, I mentioned all of this to him. “I really do miss all of my loved ones back home in Indiana. But on the other hand, part of me believes that if I had my way, then I’d stay here for another year! I don’t know which side to listen to!” I declared wistfully.