Every place we go.. we build a nest, make some stories.. and finally when we leave.. does that mean an end to what ever we built?? Do they cease to exist?
What about the people we leave behind.. What about the people who choose not to be in our lives.. Do they erase us.. Do we stop existing for them... Will they remember us in ways incomprehensible to others.. Do we do that, but refuse to accept that ever.. other than to ourselves in those silent moments...
What about the stories we weave. Do they remain suspended in space forever. Will we be able to script endings for each tale... or will they remain like an unfinished silken web....
What happens??
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