file

Is my brain a sheep or a walnut or the classic cauliflower? Maybe it's playdough. Maybe it has fallen into a pool and can't remember how to swim. It has to be selective with memories. It is a filing cabinet. It is cold sheet metal, sterile office furniture. Depress the body of the lock and it will open. No key necessary. The drawers are full of whole walnuts.

And it's late at night when I try to rewind and begin again in my mind. I would take your suggestion and order the steak off the menu. I want to tell you that I like your funny idea of wearing those traffic cones as hats. And we can do it! It probably isn't a great idea, seeing as traffic cones are hard to come by, but at least I'm willing. And I'm willing to admit that I'm never going to love you as much as I do when I don't love you anymore. I file you away until I need to crack open some nuts to feed my words. You are a blog post. You are a convenience when I can't sleep and feel indulgent. You are alphabetically tucked away in the middle shelf. It's okay to say I'm a sheep.

I will suspend this until I remember how to swim.