““Pieces Sometimes there only seem to be clouds. Tonight, the clouds hang above me, sulking in the sky. They watch me write the words. I don’t even think they bother to read. I imagine myself in a room, where some shattered pieces are strewn on the floor, in front of me. As I walk towards them, I have no idea what they are, so I approach with trepidation. They seem to be a puzzle, all torn up and thrown apart. They look injured. I crouch down and being putting them together, finding each scrap that surrounds my feet. Gradually, I see the picture form as I put it all together. Gradually, I see. These pieces on the ground. Are made of me.””
