I was born alone. That is all I remember right now; the fire in the shallow cave creates flickering shadows as the cold outside settles into full-moon hours. In that fire, shapes speak of significance. Earlier, as I made that fire my own, memory still gone and all past with it, I wondered what had happened. Why am I in such a predicament? My name, I searched for in the silent dusk hours before darkness, sat cross-legged in rags, this small cave to shelter me. I still haven't remembered it, who I am. The reaching flames of the fire seem to know something as I gaze into the red, oranges, electric blues at its glowing base. Fire always seems to know something- it is the ingredient that binds earth and space together, I wonder, considering that while I seem to know many things, there may be a chance that I will never regain my memory.