The Bear That Ate The Sun.

"Fight me, fight me,

Sight me and knight me.

Love me, love me,

Snub me and shove me.

I love you, I love you,

I really, truly, sweetly do,

My love just wants you dead.

And for my love,

My sweet summer dove,

I'll shoot you in your pretty head."

- Bartholomew Dutch's epigraph

The people like me don't exist. They could. But they don't. And I'll tell you why.

Don't get me wrong. There are a lot of people who seem like me. but they aren't like me. They are no more like me than moths are like jellyfish.

I tired to mourn my 50 million never existed siblings, but I gave up after 3,563 of them and went to eat some noodles.

It was worth it. Those noodles were good.

I saw in the car today, a bear in the sky. The big black bear took the sun out of the sky and ate it. He ate it to make us all the same. His lips blistered in the heat of an orange orb, his big black teeth seared blacker, his eyes ran with tears of pain. He roared and cried and swallowed up the sun.

My hands look purple. They aren't but they could be.

I'm sorry, no, there are no people like me.

But there are no people like you either.

There could be,

But there aren't.

I could paint my hands purple.

I could morn every unlived sibling.

We could all be the same.

But I don't.

But we don't be.

There's no good reason.

And the bear threw the sun back up. And the bear died.