Shapes of houses

We crawled in our apartment hand over foot so took to the a new house in a flourishing. Four times the necessary space. I stood at one end and he stood at the other and we talked in loud voices until we were hoarse and never heard a word.

We wanted everything king size. King size! A kingdom. The tinier we could be. To reach for the table, for the floor, for the edges— the length between one and the other was hallowed. We’d lost a longing and gained it back while we hollowed out the places we fit and felt delicate. Outside the world stayed the same but with our newfound smallness we saw the strongest man in the world, the tallest buildings ever built. We could be lifted and carried to tops of the towers. Somedays we never spoke and let the dead air take up all the space.

Of course if we’d stayed curled in the middle of our things we’d never have noticed. The thickening. Each minute we were closer to passing through doorways and noticing the walls beside. A step aside. A little stumble. Soon feeling hands and knees I didn’t own sidling up my ribcage; we slithered and snaked. Those are the shapes of houses. We grew into it. We shape our houses until they shape us.

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