I am losing track of who's story I had thought to write before my hand grows cold and stiff
The restless ones around me are as living moving air jostling each other as they vie for my pen and so
I read back and and realize..our lives consists almost entirely of other people.
There can be no "My Story", only Ours..
The Children of the Apocalypse.
They will always be part of me and nothing can change that.