With hollow hands I carve you quick, with ribbon fingers stretching out to caress the sultry wind. Spoken with a broken melody, I made a deal. Was it the right thing to do? Time will tell when the pages of the future have become the past. I hope it will see me in brilliant colour, not in the black & white of the facade. Will my sacrifices & dreams be worthwhile? Or will they fade into the memory of only those who lived it? Do we write our own stories or are they written for us? If I were to break a fantasy into pieces, would I discover who I am? Or would I find myself a broken twisted past? Parted & Discarded? Perhaps if I succeed the world will fly into the face of reality.