The title is tribute
This title isn't from me. It isn't allegiance, but memory. The first one to move your loneliness from behind the chest to all around you — you respect that person, breathe in and breathe out, and remember. Without memory, we are as young as we always were, just as stupid. Trauma, humiliation, and love, they need memory and perhaps a small tribute; that's how stories are made, tributes and references. The referential Utopia of an interconnected literary world, except here lives are texts and reading is frustratingly reminiscent of lost lives, who we once were, or believed ourself to be.
I was the melody, in the title. The rhapsody was the other. Now at sunny noon I question where I come from, soon I'll go, swim and rush and cautiously blush as I look for stories of travel, everyday life, and things normal and sweet. Simple things that lie at the start of journeys. Then, work will begin.
