On these days, I've never felt so hollow. Recollecting the many pieces of me that were lost in past sub-lives. They were the minor characters of my novel life, the sub-plots to the whole story. On these days I was the binding that held the book together, I was not the words. I thought it was over, but I was wrong. She spread her wings and sang her song. She rode upon the howl of wind until she was gone.
Warm Regards