Remember who you were yesterday, last week, a month ago, a year ago, two, three?

Demands.
Ideas, they ebb and flow and sit around you like the stale air you exhaled the sighs you routinely sing. You do not write them down. You wonder who your audience is. You remember who your audience was. You pretend some things never happened because you aren�t that same person to him, or her, or them� or you. Mostly you.
You don�t have the dreams anymore, you don�t have any of the same dreams anymore- you don�t know what your dreams are anymore. But things are good- you know they are good- so good. Sigh.

So what�s missing. If you knew, I guess it wouldn�t be missing.

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