Now its years since your body went flat and even memories of that

are all think and dull, all gravel and glass. But who needs them

now -- displaced they're easily more safe -- the worst of it now: I

can't remember your face.



Please...

Return.



For a while, with the vertigo cured, we were alive -- we were pure.

The void took the shape of all that you were, but years take their

toll, and things get bent into shape... Antiseptic and tired, I can't

remember your face.



Please...

Return.



You were supposed to grow old. Reckless, unfrightened, and old,

you were supposed to grow old.



Return. You were supposed to return.