Love Me

If you sit and stare at the wall long enough, something magnificent will happen. First, you'll hear a thick layer of paint separate itself from the wall with a series of sick crackles and wet popping noises. Visually, there is no manifestation. This is followed by a brief silence. After you begin to second guess your senses, a split in the paint will appear. The moist noises from before will return in force as a pair of hands pushes out of the wall from the inside. They will spread the paint apart just wide enough to reveal a pink-haired version of yourself. This entity will stare you deep in the eye. The following is crucial; Do Not Say a Single Word. You will want to with every bit of your being. You must not. The deepest regions of your elbow will demand the you say something, anything. You must not. Your fingers will tingle with the intensity of one-thousand and twenty-three perturbed porcupines in hopes that you will speak. You. Must. Not. Only then will you understand what it was you were about to say. At this point you will realize that it was not meant to be said. And the eyes of the wall will no longer be made of glass.