I found this heart in a 'used stuff' store. It was still beating steady, but not used well. I'd like it if it were well-used. I found these dreams out in the street. They’d been abandoned, half-finished, like the dusty pages of an unfinished novel, thrown away in the basement, below the pile of old newspapers, by a writer who discovered a new purpose of life. I found these smiles hidden inside cookie jars, like a poor mother of two saves pennies for her little girl's birthday cake. I found these thoughts scattered around the house like drops of paint on the canvas by a painter who has lost his art in some place dark, dark enough not to be able to see any colour. I found these words in a broken musical box playing a familiar note with a missing key of the bitter-sweet symphony. I lost myself in all the beauty of misery, like a psychopath who smiles when the wrists are bleeding, the day you found me.