My favorite things to hold are broken toys. These are like dreams mostly. These are short paragraphs made from contemptuous facial expressions. If you were a wall you would be a wall made of brick work. I hang a poster of myself. My poster-eyes line up perfectly with yours. I am broken though. Can you see through me? Can you see how each piece of my heart is crumbling under the weight of our comforter? I am so warm, I am so far from home and yet, even when I am about to cry, I think I WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO LIFT YOU AGAIN. There’s no reason to sneak into your garage, there’s no reason to throw away or fix anything destroyed.
