Big doors divide everything. Big doors that stand from floor to ceiling
Partitioning corridors, these doors often stand quietly in the middle. Their capability to divide the entire lot isn’t lost by their status; looming at the side. They can break apart even the most spuriously arranged by just
shutting. They were all shut when we met.
Perhaps they’re meant for big robot machines, I joked. We opened one
And clung together
And thought the same
We should have thought the same.
It shouldn’t have been so fleeting
You look like a spider, you said
I have to weave webs, I said to your back. Everyone does what they can to feel at home.

We didn’t know how to stop the doors from shutting. You motion the shutting action with your hands. I look down at my spidery fingers. Clumsy, you once said.
Everyone does what they can to feel at home, I sigh.
Webs are so fragile. They break.
It’s fun to throw little things at spiders’ webs, you said. So we threw things at their webs, hoping to see them rush over and eat the trick flies. But the webs just broke, and the spiders disappeared.