I'm very in love with the part of you that folds on your shoulder when you put your arm above your head. the freckled part that is so unbelievably human, looks like what skin exactly looks like. and people are so much bigger on the inside, there's millennia in every wrinkle. in every white blood cell battling bad guys, we are all war. hosts, planets. when something is so good that it can't possibly get better what do you do? what do I do? what do I do after I count all the ceiling tiles again and again and pray to the sounds at night that my lids will finally let me rest, what do I do when I just feel too alive? like I'm too useful and not enough using. when the house creaks and tells me that all it's ever wanted to do was move around, what am I supposed to tell it? do I tell it that it someday will?