Lewis’ General Theory of Love


it could have been worse, you say. you could have
been sucking on the remote trying to taste milk
while the channels flicker somewhere between a
horror matinee and a sitcom. building sculptures
of what your life was supposed to look like out
of wooden blocks and bendable wire, you turn
the dial in the middle of your mother’s face and
fall asleep listening to her sing softly in static.

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