i am fierce. i move behind bookshelves and whisper my secrets into mason jars. i write in sloppy cursive and mismatched capitals and lowercase print. i love the smell of old books and loathe the feeling of new books, so i bend back the covers quickly to add to them time. i hate wristwatches and time devices. i am of poor judgment of time and space. this isn't my antithesis. it isn't even the light to my dark. this is the extension of me, when my words are overfilling cups and spilling out of synch.