September 13, 2004
These are the mountains – these are the streams we once knew. These are the memories that bleed out of me and you and the cities around us, the cities under our feet. We walk and we breathe them, we breathe and we walk the streets. There is water and darkness. There is the sound of dripping rain. My eyelids are closing, closing and settling into pain but I wouldn't be here if you asked me. I wouldn't be here at all. I never asked you for anything, and you happily obliged. To this is my triumph – this my opening line.