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      I've lived on the streets for more years than I can remember.  I can't live here.  I don't remember anything before the streets, before the wind and the strange way the buildings seem to speak to themselves in the early hours of the morning before the sun has truly risen.  I don't know anything but this city and its lifeless inhabitants.  They live out the same day over and over again as if there was nothing new ever.  As if there was nothing beyond the river and the city limits.  And maybe there isn't.  Maybe we're the crazy one's for believing that there's more
I don't believe in fate.  I believe in lives passing over each other until finally the pieces fit together.  We are stitches in a quilt, we cannot ever see the finished product.  But we strive towards it anyway, because that is our lot in life. You however, you step back, you move the needle and pull the the threads into place.  There is a a sadness deeper down than even you can feel a sadness clouded by sadness that allows you to move through life as though nothing matters.  You are free, you are perfect.  You remember.
      I remember remembering.  I remember what it felt like to have a thought beyond this one.  I remember joy in an ambient way, as though at one point I was happy but can never seem to put my finger on the exact moment when I was truly happy.
      We are so broken.  Broken so much so that we can't remember exactly what the pieces looked like before when they actually fit together.  But the thing about broken people is they are not longer afraid.  Because what can be worse than being broken?  I can't live here.  All I remember is the streets.  But I want to remember more than just remembering.  And I need more than the streets to do that.