It's Rare That I Read

You Know Things Are Moving. You're Changing, You Fellow Dead Are Changing, The World Is Ready For Something Miraculous. What Are We Waiting For?

But It Does Make Me Sad That We've Forgotten Our Names. Out Of Everything, This Seems To Me The Most Tragic. I Miss My Own And I Mourn For Everyone Else's, Because I'd Like To Love Them, But I Don't Know Who They Are.

I Notice Faint Scars On Her Wrists And Forearms, Thin Lines Too Symmetrical To Be Accidents.

It Frustrates And Fascinates Me That We'll Never Know For Sure, That Despite The Best Efforts Of Historians And Scientists And Poets, There Are Some Things We'll Just Never Know. What The First Song Sounded Like. How It Felt To See The First Photograph. Who Kissed The First Kiss, And If It Was Any Good.

It’s Not About Keeping Up The Population, It’s About Passing On Who We Are And What We've Learned, So Things Keep Going. So We Don’t Just End.