sitting on your shelf, your most prized possession; between loud and quiet; a face in a jar. it winks sometimes; gives you a sly smile. you never said how you happened to find it. but always that it was real and true. and i could tell from the dead voids where two seeing sockets should be that you were telling the truth. nothing fancier than a face in a jar. no one can touch. and one little shake, rattle, push, taunting, quake, jump could destroy the whole thing. so fragile, you just keep it covered.
but you never listen to me. i keep saying that you need to poke some holes in the lid. the air needs to breathe.