As pieces of the future fall together in our lap, making
something from our past, we wonder what it’ll be. We stare at it in silence
waiting for it to grow, waiting for it to tell us more, ignite something in us
that we know we have forgotten. There is a sort electricity in each memory… we
remember nothing, just a sense of how we felt back then. The puzzle is complete;
it sits in our lap staring at us waiting for us to respond to its utterly
obvious remark. But, there is nothing that we see; there is nothing that is
screaming out at us in obvious reciprocation. We pick up the puzzle carefully fondling
every piece, feeling too much but understanding nothing at all.
