Thursday, July 17, 2008

Rummaging under the bed, I found a camera that shows the future. A camera that shows the future is more of a liability, as it turns out, than it is an asset, because the future is washed in the same shade of nostalgic sepia that the past is. I don't think we needed to know that our past and our future are exactly the same color. It certainly doesn't make moving forward any more inspiring, and I think that perhaps we ought to stay right here, crouched in our cabinets, eating cherries and contemplating the futurepast. Rather than inviting it in to throw a party in our shoes.

At night I wait for the sound of deepening breath, filling the room like the ocean. I should have made all of these valentines waterproof.

I'm not sure if the wish I made on that shooting star would count if I found out that it wasn't really a shooting star, wasn't really a small bit of space careening toward the surface of the Earth, but was instead an astronaut fallen adrift from his moorings. Or if, perhaps, it would count even more.

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