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I’m a bit behind. This was last week’s Micro Bookends contest wherein they supply the first (WEIGHT) and last (LOSS), respectively, and you supply the words in between (no more than 110), responding to the above prompt. Photo courtesy of Matthew Fern. My entry:

Weight had become another “thing” to consider. Like waking, moving, breathing; his weight felt sentient.

Harvey had become aware of these things, like skin, the way it seemed to ripple across his frame or the way he found the circulation of his blood to be overbearing on his ears, that he had descended into a madhouse of solipsistic droppings.

Harvey’s life had become shipwrecked in some Steinian bottle. Nothing ceased to be something and something manifested into nothing.

If only he was “he,” then his existence had been re-calibrated to be more in-tuned to he since he was all.

But, Henry feared, if it true, then he was a loss.

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