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(A short story about a workplace written from the perspective of the building)

She was nineteen years old when she met me. I couldn’t remember her face, but she watched me like she knew me. Had we met before? Or had she simply seen me once, and strangely remembered me? It made me self conscious. But her imposed familiarity was comforting, her enthusiasm infectious. I felt a little fear in her, and great insecurity. I felt the desire to tend to her. I have done this before.

He was 36 when he met me. He did not watch me. I was not self conscious, but I felt a great deal of respect towards him. A military man who said very little but had a troubled scowl on face. Very rarely did he smile but when he did it was jarring. Who was this man? The man who smiled was completely different than the man who stood and watched on as he normally did. I have seen men like him before.

He was 26 years old when he met me. He watched me, ingested me, took me in. His ears were jeweled and he never stopped moving. Everything; fast, fast, fast! He slammed around in me, in all of us, bumping into everything. He looked but saw too late. A fire built on passion started from within him, and quickly escaped. Danger? No, not intentionally. A hazard, perhaps. A hazard with a bright smile and a loud laugh. He moved past me often but seldom spoke to me. I have felt this fire before.

She was 27 when she came to me. We were old friends, who had never really crossed paths until then. She was scared, I could tell. So small, a little bird in a big place. Do not be scared little bird, I would try and say to her. You have known me, met me, worked with me before. Do not be scared. But she doesn’t hear me. They never do. I have spoken to them all before.

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