What if we’re not wrong, it’s not us, but everyone else abides by a man-made morality we shouldn’t have to stick to? Perhaps, in some places, they don’t set the boundaries that rope around us, interrupt opportune moments, in class and out of it.
Maybe you knew when you read the books, saw the films, selected CD tracks, that I’d access them too, in parallel universes and this one. That you can try to alter actualities but plants survive snow, everything evolves, even television which seems to stagnate when you’re seeing it. But eight seasons in, where would we be if we let us?
The gradual unlearning of us. My address. Your answers on every quiz I set. Page 66. The movie we watched with your mother. Your mother. The chain around your neck and your foot and your bracelets and lace and your breath and fingers kneading and your nails and your taste and your homing device and me and me and us.