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The Next Thing and That After (Kid Bedroom Sticker)

I want to make love marginal
I want to be like you.

He collapsed into a series of miniature temporary resolutions to accept and close every loop after each instance he encountered.
I’m in my life, yes. But not my body.

He had one task, to clear out old stuff and he ended up focusing on the sticker. Marvelling at how it remains. There were attempts to remove it. The stubborn thin part.
He looked closer. Saw how it elegantly exists.
“I feel scooped out.”
I saw your organs lined up. No room to co-work, they take turns. Even your guts. I wish my insides queued up like yours. Every event inside me gently waiting for its turn. Imagine how orderly that would feel. Instead, inside I’m pebble dash. Pedestrian and un-authoritative. You though, you refined and patient sticker, you exist quietly beyond me.

“What is it when you stop rooting for the one you love and you start competing with them?
What is that about?”

You would never do that sticker. You’re vast inside. I can see and move around inside of you. You’re spongy but not porous. More walls and mounds. Plains of soft white rolling hills and mountain peaks at those tips that indicate the last and next attempt to remove you. Inside you, tendrils, cross hatching but still taking turns. And all white. Everything is white inside you. Sure the image on top is practically gone. And those hills you have, they even experience their own sunset by the light in this room. I do believe that you twist yourself to allow for this. Depending on the light switch, you react. So your days and nights are of various lengths but this does not take away your order. You are so in control.
I’m very pedestrian you see. I’m rather intimidated by your sophistication and all. You are a vast micro flesh taking up only this small section of a kid bedroom wall. You are basically immortal.

I must go.