the sight of the Theeman Hotel strikes within him awe, as high as it's thousand leagues onto the sky

and the emergence of the slime mold in her rotting log, strikes her with ease

they live two seperate lives, in sameness

but with him, he has given to the city

and her, the forest

he lets go of a plume of smoke, resting besides a digiphone booth, before another construction shift

and she meditates under the trees, wondering the same wondering as him

memories, what are memories

he sees no other memories but the crust of the city life bared onto iridium concrete

and she is aware that the trees learn and remember, and only onto death do they reveal their nostalgia

the cities tower alight with the memories of nothingness

while the woods tower with memories forged from nothing

and he sees the growth of the world made by it's starers

and she sees the eyeless grow towards a fire in the sky

what would be the world we would have made if we didnt remember

a dinge heap of a city, or an austere forest

unaware of the memories piled around us

but beauty forged among its thick, for true eyes to see a crowd of makers

he returns to his post redirecting an endless traffic

and she tends to her fruits in a life full of new