I confess that I hunt, But I am scared to be a carrier. They are stories, They have become stories, But what of me? What am I-- I live a million lives, So I am one of them. A million stories in one city~ Confessions: I didn't get the window seat today, but I am near it. I want to count with my fingers the people I am brushing against. The buzz inside the train qualifies for a book snippet and The blur outside is already a half-chewed poem.
