Just last night we talked about old stuff with my boyfriend, and he told me a story about their knitting classes in primary school. Everyone did a little patch to a given size, then they sew together all the pieces that the class made into one blanket, and gave it away to children in poorer countries.
The only problem with the piece he made was that it wasn't the good shape, that is, a square. So he could keep it to himself. He's not that good at making things to measure. And I guess, that's one of the reasons why I love him. This also means that he's full of surprises. Another reason. Well, this is all thinking backwards, these are not the real reasons. Are there reasons in love?
Anyhow, this morning while slumbering away on the subway, after having myself successfully assembled into a suddenly freed gap on the seats, I was having a nightmare about a society of people with the exact same shaped and sized heads which fit together perfectly, and where I would definitely not have a single chance to fit in.
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