If this line between fiction and reality does not soon fracture. If it continues to blend like watercolors, until everything is only one color, and individual characteristics and pigments cannot be determined. If I encounter a single piece of confetti brushed off a shoulder or lingering listlessly in a corner. I will slip further inside myself to escape these infractions, condense to the point of complete solidity. Into a tiny glass marble on the sidewalk. Defying the natural fragility of glass. Becoming something strong but small. Invincible but invisible. Rolling away into a crevasse, a gutter, oblivion.