4.8

I tried to write a metaphor of you, but I failed. I never fail at metaphors. I think it's because you're too big, you're too much. How could I reduce something that touches the stars and sinks into the sea? How could I outline the hunger that has emptied my ribcage and pulled the fibers of the muscles from my bones? How could I possibly propose a timepiece or a mechanism for marking the vast eternity I have spent in the minutes you held me? What feeble idiot am I, to create such a metaphor? And what patient fool are you, to listen so well as I struggle?

This one is me, I think. I cannot know if it is you. Sleep well.