January 27, 2017

“Into the hole went the last mirror I looked into, a piece of balled up paper with the man’s name written down the middle, an ink cartridge the man rolled on his tongue before spitting out. I threw in a piece of paper I tried using as a diary (I never got farther than writing the date, then an emotion, i.e., sad, disparate, melancholy, gloomy, claustrophobic, enraged). I threw in the packaging of an empty box that arrived addressed to the man. I threw in a tangle of dead flowers the man produced from the back of the closet, a button that came off my least-favorite blouse, the last bit of a roll of toilet paper…”

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