Life happens in rounds. It happens in square, hard patterns. The patterns swing with generations and with deaths, with falling in and out of failing faith. At some point all that is left is that little bit, which is no longer supported by pattern. Holding on to something it can’t find, it searches for the rest of you, probably washed up somewhere with the hope. That little bit grows so tired that all you have left is a lack of something.
But if this little bit is strong enough to feel you again, it can save you. It saved her three times but the fourth time it let her go hollow. The hollow body that produces hollow thoughts eventually seeks a hollowness empty of even thought.
You just want to sleep. All of you should be waiting for you when you wake up, but of course that’s just a dream. So the closest thing is risking what will come of you after death. But you were such a sweet girl. But you were so talented. Oh how sad. Well you don’t care. You think it’s sad that they are happy because the world is so hollow that you can’t stand.
So that little bit floating around the swirling hollow square drops, and you’re left not with nothing but with a lack of anything. Your blood may as well be pudding but you can’t remember what that tastes like. You don’t pretend that you can taste with your dry mouth. But your eyes are so wet that you sit down in the hallway. And your body is so foreign that you don’t know what to wear. But you don’t want to go the party. You don’t want people to wonder why your face is so vapid and flat. You can’t make it round because you’re stuck in something hollow and hollowness is blankness and blankness doesn’t have a shape.
So instead you lay in bed in the sad outfit and your sister frowns and says it’s ok, it won’t be that fun anyway.
If you could do it, that little bit of you would stream heavy with the blood that can’t wait to leave the body you think it loathes. But you can’t, which is reassuring. So you begrudgingly stay in your body and someone pretending to be you keeps hating both of you, until one day the cold mind that belittles you absorbs something. Now you have a little bit more of yourself, which you didn’t know was all you needed, because you had forgotten that you forgot yourself. So that little bit saves you.
If they’re good to you, they’ll pull that little bit out and blow it up and fill it up with the rest of you, because they know where to find the rest of you now. They will put all that back into your body so that you know what you taste like again.
He says you look much better and so does she but you don’t understand that you had once looked worse. You don’t remember looking in the mirror and even if you had you wouldn’t have looked back.
She says she is vertical but would rather be horizontal. You say you are empty but would rather be full.