this idea of plurality is still bothering me.

dear autochthonous origins, dear n-dimensional space, dear distorted dissociative states,

Society is eyes like boats in docks. Waves spill, boat rocks, buoys flatten and press. Conservation of momentum controls this, ensures everything returns circularly. The cycle repeats. Glance, dissolve, glance.

It's important to consider that maybe a girl is like a god i.e. she can never show her fullness without destroying anyone who glimpses this holy light. Maybe a girl is a martyr and maybe a girl is a saint (& maybe her holiest power is not divine but chthonic, a capability for destruction more innate than life-giving). Maybe a girl is made of doors, not windows, and No, you can't see through her. Maybe a girl is homogeneity, is fluidity, is doors opening and closing, is eyes like boats in docks. Maybe.

If I told you a girl was a soft body made of the word maybe, would you believe me?

If you saw a girl pass through crowds like a ghost through walls, would you be surprised?

If you heard the slap of waves in a glance, would you listen to it?

If? If? If?