Capsule

 

One was a hole. One was a stick. One let you pass. One bit. One was a bird. One was annoyed. One wore a lucky glove. One wore a hat pulled over thin hair. They rearranged the furniture. It was a lost civilization with broken bits scattered around. I lived alone in a small room. Outside it was so cold you would freeze to death in five minutes. I recorded my thoughts in a book. I was not writing to make friends. I was writing an ending. I lived this way for six months and didn’t miss anyone. When I opened the hatch, nothing was left but happy memories.