there are little splits of time, cracks in the lines that let the light in. this is where he finds me. I keep to myself mostly. I write and read in small corners of the world, take photographs of people that pass me by. people I loved or want to love in the future. I pin them inside the walls of my room. when the splits come along I see him peer in, wonder about my place in the world. I have a mild way about myself. someone told me one time to take care of these pieces, to hide her away from the world because she is always so sad. so I do just that.