I was also given a tiny set of hands. I don't suppose I take very good care of them, because they were always getting paper cuts, penknife cuts, blisters and such. But I do suppose I can't imagine my life without them. And this is surprising, because I imagine a lot.

Along with these things, I was also given some other things. Like a name for you to call me by. Or a box so I can keep all the conversations we had. And a spiraling slide that I would take whenever I see you, feel like seeing you, wish I could see you, but never saw you.

I would gladly trade these things for a metal cylinder of clockwork intricacy. A piece of cold hard steel, I would trade whatever I have and be a piece of cold hard steel. The steel would help me kill the silence, tell me what to do, teach me what to say, walk right up to you and look you in the eye even if you're walking away.

I wouldn't mind because then I would get what I want. I wouldn't mind because then I would have you�all my love of the world intensified into one single human being.

Despite all the things I was given, I wish I had a machine inside of me. Then I would know what to say if we were to meet. I would know whether to tell you that I am going for lunch, or that I am, in fact, already dead inside and walking only because I have to.