The soft touch of time, gentle memories tickling my dreams, ages me like a river sanding down a stone. Into the sea, I am taken, my details, my shape, by little, indistinguishable subtractions; nameless in the sea, what core of me remains? God, why do you carve a face into a stone? Only to let it be weathered down and your creation forgotten?
I forgot.
It was not my face.
It was yours.
If I’m to be smoothed down, make me your mirror. When you shine your light into the depths whither all souls gather, might I reflect your light?
Tale Told 