There’s a woman trapped in a glass case in my house. I say my house but really, it’s not. There are owners. And it’s a very strange thing to refer to them as such. Ah such. Life is funny when you think about it, people say, but they don’t really specify what kind of funny and my keyboard only writes Y when I press it really hard, just like life.
So this woman, she lives underneath the glass and her skin is very dark. She looks lonely under there and the other night I couldn’t sleep and so I got up to pack but really I just grabbed a very sharp knife and tried to pry her out of there. It was nice.
It felt good to free someone and I wonder when she decides to talk what she’ll say about life under all that enclosed. Like:
- What is in our basket there? …ou’ve been holding it pretty steady six years now and I always wondered what you were carrying where, and if you’d ever get there.
- Where did you get such beautiful cloth?
Why are you alone in there, on a wide open landscape and why
Well it doesn’t really matter. I pried the end piece off and inserted an alien landscape, for everyone, I guess.
eachdayyoucomehere 