Sometimes I feel that my life has been lived in stages. Each moment is as separate as dead birds kept in rusty cages. Scattered at the bottom where they fell to remain wasted and it’s all been written down to create a book, with blank pages. I have never seen behind your masks and may never see your true faces, but I know who you all are, you’re the same person from different places. We all want to believe we’re different, but regardless of our gender or our races, we have all endured the same; the strife, the struggle and the rages. Add the love and laughter and the scars collected over ages and still all that we’ll have left from this life is a book filled with empty pages.