London

Every day I am the helpless tug boat in the roaring harbor, bouyant, but just barely. I will admit that every day it gets easier. Unfortunately, because it gets easier, the memories start to fade away. Where do they go? Wolves. Carelessly tossed to the wolves, grey with red beady eyes, gnawing at the fleshy remembrances. To the bone, the marrow, pouring out onto the wooded floor thick with leaves and dirt from a rainstorm. The pack chewing, chewing, chewing until tiny twigs start to infiltrate the tasty meat, until they're gone.