quiet sounds of restless wanderers floating through my bedroom window... i'm longing to know their story and their destination. the clock is but a heartless machine, counting time not memories! our ability to pause, think, reminisce. we lost it all. a hundred windows, only mine illuminated. only one passing stranger, longing to know the past of the nameless girl in floor number nine....
"Big girls don't cry" is what my mama used to say. But in certain moments I refuse to grow up. ...
