i'm thinking, now, that i could've stayed back and never learned how to exist.
or, maybe, there's still scope for that. an earnest bite of flared fishhook, two of those 45 degree mirrors that let submarines see all the way up to the surface.
whatever you do, don't imagine a white fenced-in yard with a swing-set and bruised knees and lemonade. whatever you do, don't be shaped by the people who brought you up.
imagine it with all sincerity in your inner monologue. imagine: a frail row of toothpicks across the maw and you are seven years old once more.
who knows? we are barely subatomic in the scheme of things.
As the notifications drift in I stop and wonder. Why do they take so long? Do they have adventures we don't know about? I bet they do. When they come I will ask myself. What amazing adventure has this straggling notification been on? How far did it travel, and why didn't it take me? — TypoWithoutCoffee
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