i have been preoccupied recently with measuring the size of all things. for example, my mother’s smile, how the edges of it flutter on the surface of the moon during a spotless night and simultaneously on the bright stage i have walked across during graduation.
it is a fascination, a careful, educated observation that all things are a function of distance. there is one between you and i, and one between the guillotine and the head.
my mother would frown. too bloody a thought, she’d say. there is so much to be proud of.
i am busy stacking stained coffee spoons, piling together discarded tissue, summing the number of dots in the ceiling, watching the plants sooth the air in wavy comfort, wondering how big is big, how tiny is tiny, and how long is long.
has it only been a few short lifetimes? i lose count of the ceiling.
i start again, slowly, measuredly, thinking that after it all, i’ll have nothing more to account for except getting back to you.
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