I do not know whose story this is. It could be mine. It could belong to us all. Maybe there is a sublime universal screenplay, and we are all acting from it, adding our little bits, yet never changing a thing. Maybe everything is written.

Doesn’t feel like it though.

There are times when the whole world feels like I made it up – especially since there was you. Surely no such creature could ever be real.

When you looked at me that way – and I believed in you – it was a beautiful light. It made the pavements look lovely.

And even though I knew it was impossible, I preferred it to the truth.

I would rather wander in the desert with you – dying of thirst – than follow the roads alone.

You can be a bitch – you can be a liar – you can be just like me.

We can be imperfect – we can be impure – we can be free.

The beggars are the kings. The fools are the wise. The lost are the found.

And the hungry shall be fed.

And all because of you.