Just, if that rope breaks and the ball rolls under the house, through that gap the wind blew in the skirt, let’s wait until tomorrow to get it back, maybe? I don’t want to be under there when it’s dark. Not anymore. Dark places like that, they’re where we end up confronting ourselves. Give me the daylight, please, where I can be oblivious to whatever’s roiling and writhing in my chest, in my thoughts. And in this little book, I suppose.
