I liked the shape of the rock, and so I pick it up and close my eyes and roll it around my fingertips with a smile, and think to myself what it might feel like today.
My explanations have grown more elaborate over time. Last week they got out of control. One day, I could only conclude that it felt like all the text written by the Guatamelan federal government in the year 1994. Another day it felt like pie filled with the opposite of memory.
This morning it felt like this LiveJournal entry, written in Braille. Except that the last sentence is about how grapes are most delicious when you only have one or two.