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On one side of the street, my joints are beginning to rust, and my gears are corroded. My software is outdated, and my clocks are off. My calculations are no longer sound. My tickers and buzzers have not been functional for what feels like a decade. With each step, I find that my extremities are breaking down. The metal grinds against itself and flakes off, bit by bit. The weight of these tool kits attached to my sides is a battle I can no longer fight. To rotate my wrists, or my neck, or my hips requires such an effort now, to avoid colliding with one another. I do not have any grease left. Across the street, you. Your parts are nonexistent. Your rings and bells have fallen off. You are missing switches and levers. I do not think that you can even move, the way your lower half is contorted. You are shorting out. From here, I can see that your wires are exposed. And you are covered in oil. And yet still, we both remain as we are. |
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Every evening, I fall in love. Goodnight. |
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I strove so very hard to be this perfectly docile, subordinate, and nurturing creature. Yes sirs, no sirs, thank you sirs. But, alas, my knees are weak now, and my heart is heavy with sufferance. I find myself no longer able to support the weight. It is as if I am dragging a ship behind me, through the sands of Arabia. A ship full of elephants. With other elephants stacked atop the original elephants. And they are all jumping up and down incessantly. And the only thought that my mind allows me to entertain is how things were, prior to my Pachyderm vessel. I reminisce on the tenderness shared, and the moments that will never be forgotten. I recall how every waking moment was beautiful, and how I could not tire from it. I revive the eagerness and the passions that my heart once swam amongst so fluidly. I want to soar with my vehemence once more. I want to taste the ardor in the air. I want my wings to burst through pockets of spirit, and I want to caw over the tiny ant-world below, until every inhabitant is fully aware of my affection. My pleas have the clarity of a fresh diamond, and yet I am still greeted with a palm of coal. Perhaps a polishing is in order. |