I was in the market and I bought an aloe plant. I was attracted by the familiar and thick appendages. It was nice to have something to care about. To nurture. I asked about how to look after it and was told that you can cut off the limbs, and replant them to grow new bodies. That seemed counterintuitive, but I abided. With frenzy. Slicing and burying. Slicing and burying. Slicing and burying. At some point the motions of regeneration became natural, so much so that I could not bare the site of temporary intactness. I became addicted to potential. To pieces.
I haven’t seen another person for days and I ask that you refrain from sending me photos until I am back to my old self.