Mr. Pan

“boy, why are you sad?”
“I’m sad often.”
“Why? What is it that makes you sad?”
“the rule.”
“what rule?”
“The rule that I must never be touched.”
“Why must you never be touched?”
“because there is a part of my inside that
if touched
would shatter into pieces.”
“The part that tells time?”
“The part that blows bubbles in chocolate milk.”
“The same part that plays catch?”
“The part that hates broccoli.”

“If you are touched, what will become of you?”
“I told you I–”
“No, what will become of all of you?”
“I will fold perpetually within myself
until there is nothing left,
I will become a smaller part of the whole between us.”
“that sounds terrible.”
“Painful. It’s painful.”
“Is that why you so often fly away?”
“so often until this point.”
“What changed?”
“I shattered the hands of a clock, mid-flight,
looking for my home star.”
“were you caught.”
“No, I simply fell, lost sight of my distant home.”
“Can you not find it now?”
“I can’t, Things only align every so often, I am trapped.
I told you do not touch me.”
“It’s just that your pain is palpable to me,
I want to wipe it away.”
“Please, no. It’s all a part of the rollercoaster of loss.”

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