Shattered eggshells like phantoms of potential scattered across the faces of strangers and sidewalks vaguely familiar. Embed into the flesh of the mailman and the sinew of the seemstress. So fresh and feeble yet already spoiled with such jagged beauty. I wish there was some sort of remedy for this humpy dumpy epidemic, but here I am waltzing gingerly between the membrane shells of potential memories and the brutal carnage of failed relationships