I’ve created a strange space. or maybe I’ve collected it. or collected myself into it. it’s made of inside things that I think I’d like to put outside for inheritance. I don’t know what it means, or how to get here, so I don’t know how to get out. it’s a labyrinth of memories I collected and stories I’ve been told about myself. how can I remember something before I knew how to remember anything? my story started changing and I’ve been stuck on certain parts that made me sad and now I’m sad because I talk about being sad too much, and I kept looking into the hole as I was digging 100 feet into the earth and eating the dirt to keep my mouth moving. I’m softer now on the edges and everything gets in so I can feel it for a few seconds or two years.