All the people who have flowed through my life and who flow still through my life, the fabric of it. All those empty chairs. I don’t see most of them or talk to them at all. But they are in me. I can feel that river of connections in me. I think about them, maybe I feel them. Random, odd moments of remembrance – in music, in a scent, a photo. Who I am is made from who they are in me, not wholly maybe, but it is huge, the river of you, in me.