I wish I lived in a world where it was okay to say “I spoke with a goblin on my walk today. He lives inside a thorn bush covered in white berries just beside a little wharf. To other people he just looks like a pile of leaves under the bush, but to me, when I remember talking to him, he looks like he’s the same as the bush, covered in thorny bark with yellow-white eyes. It sounded like German when I spoke to him, but I know it’s not. I don’t know what I said, but I needed to tell him something. He didn’t say much.”

But I don’t live in that world, and it’s not really okay.

For the record, a light next to the sidewalk went out as I walked by on my way home and I arrived home at the exact moment as another person who lives with me. This person had been out many hours and I had no way of know when they would return. Just little pats on the back.

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