I have been thinking of you. You are like a box I hold but cannot open. When I shake the box, the sound is soft and distant. I have the thought that the box contains a second box, and that the second contains a third. Each is different from the one that held it.
When I leave the house, I carry the box with me. It is light—so light I am apt to forget it’s there. In fact I do forget, but then I see my reflection in a storefront window or in the window of a passing car, and I’m this man holding a box.
A man signs a shovel and so he digs.
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