—

“I dunno, recalling the qualities of a thing isn’t the same as sensing it?” she upspeaks uncertainly back.

“Sure, true, but with your son, well, normally it’s the perceived that makes perception but—” The child again closes his eyes and smooshes shut his ears and he can’t feel his skin, almost can’t hear the grownups, can feel the carpet, not as if against him, no, doesn’t feel it, has become it, threads, woven, not yet pulled apart.

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