#object form

This is called “Me In Object Form.” I’m not a writer, I’m a towel.  

Some days I just lie down and think of X, Y, and maybe if I’m in the mood, Z. The greatest function I’ve provided is being anything, anywhere, looking.

          I’ve stopped being an active petter of your anxieties and this made you angry once. 

          Instead of fighting you on it I just went outside and coiled myself up like a hose. Nobody in this neighborhood has confidence enough to come and turn me on, make the puckered azaleas wet again.  

          I wrote you a letter saying I was becoming a box. Inside the box was a matter of mystery. Perhaps a switch on a tiny, ancient device would be in the box. Perhaps to be flipped. You said perhaps was my favorite word. 

          We’re far apart and yet I still look for you in the objects that tumble into my days.             

Bill the triangle went off once in canon and there was nothing anticlimactic or adorable about that if I recall correctly.

Yep!