Memoirs of a Life Unlived

Cold, thin beams of night take care of your face - they glance off your bones, skin white as the moon. I ask if you might remember this place in twenty years' time; you say that's too soon.

The days we live start after and end long before all the days there are. Our days - enveloped by them - are sent to those we'll never know and most are lost in transit. The whole thing's like a box we can't quite get a hold of, not too heavy but just too big to grip.