It’s just ugly people floating in space

Sometimes I`d heard people say, “That person`s like a cork,” but I never understood what they meant. To me a cork was like a stopper. If I couldn’t get it back in the bottle after I’d opened it I’d trim it down with a knife. Like sharpening a pencil. And the cork would squeak. It was hard to cut because it wasn’t hard or soft. And finally I understood what they meant when they said, “That person’s like a cork…” Because I was like a cork myself. Not because I was born that way but because I had to force myself to be. And to make my heart like a stone. I had to be like a cork to keep on going because if instead of being a cork with a heart of stone I’d been life before, made of flesh that hurts when you pinch it, I’d never have gotten across such a high, narrow, long bridge.