You know,... I have known a certain passerby for as long as I can remember being an adult. Maybe that doesn't make that one a passerby. Still, I shall call that one a mere passerby. Sometimes a passerby has a way to one's heart. Let it be a glance, a smile, or, the tip of a hat. A passerby just does as one does.
That one works like the mystery of a mosaic. Transparent yet muzzy... Breakable but is not frail. As hopeful as a dream, yet, as fierce as a nightmare.
Years of lies masked with praises and false glory may have left that one adamant as a fire hydrant, and then, botched up that one's heart like a butcher a carcass in a cold meat freezer Still, there is a glimmer of beauty. You know, the kind of beauty you need to rub your eyes in order to see.
Oh, yes, stories to tell. Stories to keep. Stories to forget. Stories to remember. Some stories are gladly passed on with pride like a torch of flame. Some fade with the past like a forgotten name.
Let this be a story Of such a flame, or perhaps, A forgotten name.