Every day, I lose a little bit more. I scramble for a piece of it, but really, all I have now is scraps and pieces and pixels and parts. I tried to hold it in my arms and I tried running with it and I fell and I looked down and it was everywhere and it went in the wind and I couldn't hold it any more. And now, I watch it fly off into the horizon and it's the slowest flying off ever. Each stage of it is like letting the cuts all over my arms heal and then ripping the scabs off and laughing about it. There'll be a time where all I see is clouds and sky and it will all melt together and I won't be able to look up any more because the sun will have burned all the tears from my eyes finally. And then it'll all be easy. I'll become one of the faceless, I'll become one of the rank and file and I'll have lost every single tie and every single bit and every single yard and all I'll have left to remember it by is the burns it left on my hands when I tried to hold on too tight and the goodbye that never escaped from my throat.

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