The story can't all be about love--
Because the fragments I love are my memories.
Backwards.
The story got lost when--
EAch day passes like it's already old. LIke we've been here before, and we're sighing through each evening.
A war on time. For those of us who think we have too little, for those of us who foolishly think we can starve and wait, for those of us who are patient. WE are all at war with each other. WE can't pick a side. We are in a circle, and no one is in the middle, one steps out of line, we all fold.
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