A weathered sheet of paper, maybe not too old; a few decades. Enough to smell like slightly yellow pages, reinforced with dust and the affection of long evenings.
A little Di Vincian Vitruvian stares into me with still eyes. A paperdoll of myself. Little footnotes about me litter the margins, like the scrawlings of a sanitorium resident. His little tight, spiral halo of damnations closing around him as a noose. Every inappropriate adjective simultaneously defamatory, casual and honest.
I look at my little avatar and wonder aloud what he is made of.
I see incomplete lines that suggest an unformed answer. Yet unfinished, like a ledger of shoddy traits that hide the redeeming ones. Like a child who scribbles cruelly over their parents' careful work in the shared coloring book.
What else do you have to teach and tell me, little doll?
9:08 p.m. - 2014-11-24
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Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
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