Memory is the lifeblood of fiction
Memory is the lifeblood of fiction
It caught me unaware.
It was born somewhere deep within the stars
Raised by the winged migration of birds
Old and wise like the fog covering the city at the days end.
The bridge is where my story begins.
That gilded gateway between the sea of life and eternity.
A one-way crossing.
I was lost in the fog of my own ego
And my soul - my helmsman - was filled with discontent and had other plans.
Perhaps we both wanted it to end.