yavin }} d3 CBD3 }} fin

yavin park

Life sparks from swollen fingers and skin is singed by sharp currents forced down soft flesh. Red, Blue, Blue, Red. He is birthed from stolen parts and secret pages. Library books, scribbled notes, factories burgled in the dead of night. We don't have much. We never did. Three younger sisters, a brother with new eyes and face- sixteen years marks me as the eldest. With palms calloused from whatever work lays itself at tired feet I have never known a moment's rest. But he is birthed from fire and brimstone. The circuitry of science and magic and he rolls across the tile with the excitement of a newborn child. To create life from only metal and machine- my dreams have been tainted by such yearning for years. It comes easy to me, all pieces of a puzzle that slip into place, common sense called intelligence. Creations sold for stability, possibility traded for probability. A child who hasn't spent a day in class could create nothing so complex after all.

Right?