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in the interest of closing your eyes and waking up once more before there is only sleep, they are telling me it is time to go. i've gathered my things and piled neatly they're waiting as if they've nothing better to do, their arms strewn about the place, legs already gone. i don't care as long as the heads haven't fallen away again.

the tree out front was hit by lightning last night so we buried my favorite notebook underneath what was left of the people that lived inside of it all these years. at least no one ever really liked them anyway, except us, i liked the small one with the big ears.

lately i've been collecting all of my pencil shavings, i am sure that the pencil holds every universe i've ever known and especially the ones i haven't. i do not want to discard the bits that are trapped inside the sharpener's translucent red plastic. i let myself wonder if each pencil has a different universe in it, sometimes.

they are telling me it is time to go, they will not tell me where to go, and so i've been sitting here for too many long years.