and it was as if the book would never end, The Story of Yes. having already read so much, why not again until the pages yellowed, bloodied by highlighter, and the binding turned slowly to dust? how to know the shapes of a Yes, know it by name or the ways it can curve into itself, spin with joy or how to forget Yes, recall being a thing of the past. this time we read alone. whether in an emptied room or amongst crowds of the godless, sometimes Yes happens alone.