You could grow into it, that sense of living like a dog, loyal to being on your own in the fur of your skin, able to exist only for the sake of existing. Nothing inside your head lasting long enough for you to hold onto, you watch your own thoughts leap across your own synapses and disappear— small boats in a wind, fliers in all that blue, the swish of an arm backed with feathers, a dress talking in a corner, and then poof, your mind clean as a dog’s, your body big as the world, important...
