We are all a work in progress. For some never completed. For others prefabricated to make do. If I saw you today would you know me tomorrow? Or pass me by in the street? Indignant to my existence We are all just pieces in another's self build. Remnants of what's been demolished before. So when you see someone incomplete are you the missing block? Or the reason they had to rebuild. Prefabricated layers of dreams held together by little, often nothing. The dreams that formed reality are nothing of substance only the rivets of our hearts.