It’s nice to own something physical that others can only borrow with their thoughts. My writings are mine to touch…each downward keystroke is how I imagine it feels to be the creator…today I will suddenly want to move to the mountains, yet I will shiver upon the carpet under the rays of a towering sun. We are not so different…we are only neighbors because one of us is unable to come to grips with the hole in the screen….wrangling a steer…imagining all that is still left to be undone. Maybe nothing is truly capable of being fixed….the flattened tips of my paws…your assimilation. The patchless breeze blows heavily…eventually the keys pop up.