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ovenbird
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You love the sensation of something malleable in your hands. Today you used your allowance to buy a smiling thermoplastic rubber dumpling full of thick maltose that finds the shape of your fingers and holds them briefly. You love the way the surface gives under pressure, the way you can roll a ball of soft possibility in your palms. I love the way you are calmed by the pliability of time. I don’t have as much of it as you. Time has hardened. I wish I could soften it again. I wish I could stretch it out of shape and make it new. I wish I could sink into its center and bring you with me. As a child, I used to spend hours making elaborate dioramas out of plasticine. I thought I had the power to sculpt the face of the future. I was wrong. It’s time that holds the fettling knife and I am clay, waiting for the crematory kiln to show me what it means to be finished.
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260529
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