There are a million stories in the naked city, but only one of them can save me. Finding it’s a problem, though.
Every window I pass offers teasing hints but is it the story? Staring at the starbursts reflected on the glass, I wonder. Where does the staircase lead? If I mounted it, would I find the story I need?
I touch the glass and its cold seeps into my fingers reminding me to move along. Behind me the Bay of Sighs yawns. I’m just a dancer in the dust scattering old love notes as I tap dance through eternity.