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The city whispers to me.
It whispers in glass and steel and stone.
Its voice is raw and rusty and old and tired.
It tells me stories of ages past.
And stories of things to come.
It says: Listen. Do you hear? The beating of my heart. The beating of all these hearts.
It clings to my mind with rough claws.
It says: Tell the stories. Tell them well. Do not forget my soul.
I answer: How could I? You are in me. And I am in you. My shadow is sculpted on the pavement. And even when the sun is no more, it remains.
When all is gone, when the future is past and forgotten, when I am no longer and all is abandoned, I will keep you safe in me, the city whispers. For without you, without any of you, I would not have been exactly the same.
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