“I invented liking,” he told everyone who would listen. “Loving,
not so much, loving is very old, but liking and that loosely curled
fist with thumb upturned, that was mine, that was a thing I did
and got a raise and a bump in rung. Before me, folks didn’t know
how to enjoy just up to the point of love but not beyond, one tick below
and now look how many things we like, we like, we like, our hearts
and thumbs scooting their butts across the sill of an open window
where a man speaks promises and fears into a crowd of faces
so thick it becomes impossible to distinguish which is which
or each from each. The particular flattened, the likeness enhanced
until distinctions all but disappear. Like begets like, as you
well know. And I invented like,” he said again. “Love, not so much.”

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