![]() ![]() ![]() Outside the States is an empty, abandoned space. My distinctiveness will fade into the many. I have a strong feeling that if I ever do go inside I will change into something I don’t want to be. ![]() I see the States in a very specific way: my time before going inside, and my time after. But once entered, they are a thing I could never turn back from. They are not inherently evil, I don’t think. They spread like an oil slick, hundreds of millions of people living inside. They grow larger every day, eating whatever space lies in front of them. In my part of the world there are two: the Western State and the Eastern State. If for some unforeseen reason the States disappear, they are not hard to describe. I’m writing down the crisp lines of how I arrived here, nothing more.įor a while I lived in the shadow of the Western State. He’s asleep and the soft light of my Tablet is setting the cool sheets aglow. I’m lying next to my one and only, my Dylan. I’ll get old and looking back I’ll find shades of color that run into each other, no sharp lines of detail. I’m worried I’ll forget everything that’s happened to me, too. I got nothing out of those conversations. I used to ask my mom what she remembered about being my age, and the answers were all broad strokes of runny paint. I woke up one day and realized I wasn’t writing things down anymore. I’ve let so many details slip away these past months because living is a lot of work or because I grew out of writing things down or I just got lazy. I used to draw things and make little notes but I don’t do that anymore. ![]()
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