Stretched.

He has been stretched with all his intricate edges.
His skin is no longer fit, his hair is no longer short,his hands  are no longer tucked in pockets and warmth. He has been exposed to icy flakes that stir goosebumps, to shocks that electrocute hair follicles, to knives that lay dormant in pockets, waiting for the next rendezvous with inexperienced hands.
He has been stretched with all his intricate, virtual edges. His eyes have learned to absorb more daylight – light that keeps him up in a maze at night in belief that sleep would soon knock on the door he has locked and casually stride in through the wooden plates he has placed. His ears have elongated the tunnels through which the voices pass, in hope that the distance would only cause the voices’ loss along the way. His tongue, stretched too, has been swallowed and digested by acids and sourness – acids that are not his and a sourness that has dissipated into his skin and built up inside the membranes of his body.
He has been stretched. He has wrapped his elongated arms around his frail body multiple times, creating a shield of flesh and bones. He has spread his mind as a carpet and has walked on thoughts and feelings. He has extended his vision farther than your horizons and their ambitions. He has shed his skin and lit it up multiple times. He has expanded his heart, emptied it from all remains, and filled it with pure water – water that is read to morph its way through endless tunnels and hallways.
It has been a stretched year – a year of expansions and contractions, a year of morphology, a year of changes – and he has embraced it to the fullest.
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