I walked barefoot across the nameless tiles, littered with remnants of the stained glass windows of my broken dreams. I walked for lifetimes, or so it seems, over the twisted kaleidoscope of my wishful thinking and failures. Embracing the pain in the hopes that such beautiful shards would leave beautiful wounds. The footprints left in blood were my history scrawled across the nightingale floor, like so many broken swords washed upon the shore, forgotten by the hands of slain warriors in their rusted armor and bones. Left alone with nowhere to go, when you were the home I came to know. Those stone walls that sheltered me from the cold protecting the ragged edges of my tattered soul, which long since crumbled to dust. Leaving me exposed to the graceful storm, the whipping wind and driving rain. This is my life, this beautiful history of pain.