I still have three books he gave me, somewhere. I had more, but I kept my books with his, so mine are mostly gone too. While I was writing this I looked for them. I wanted to write something in one. I found Training the Mind by Chögyam Trungpa, a little book that fits in your hand, with 59 sayings. Did you notice I typed the o with the dots? I still have it because for a long time it was by my bed, in a little drawer. For a while after he was gone I pulled it out just to be sure I didn't dream it. If I open that book a little cloud of sadness comes over me. I know that's not how it's supposed to work. Chögyam Trungpa would be disappointed in me. I haven't trained my mind at all, you can tell.
I opened the front cover to write. But who would ever see what I wrote? Only Chögyam Trungpa and me.
So I wrote it in my big senior chemistry book instead:
Attention please. The owner of this book is a stolen child. If found, please return.