There is something broken, something fundamental to life itself. I can not see it, but I heard it shatter long ago and sometimes when a cold wind is blowing in from the past, I hear that painful echo riding on the breeze.
It stings and buzzes, hitting the walls in a locked room, somewhere dark, somewhere hidden.
I followed the river, floating downstream and dismounted on a distant shore. I found myself running, running, I looked down at the strong legs carrying me and they were not mine.
Fragments, shards of a story are all I have.