gorillas in pink bathrooms

the gorilla approached the bathroom with immense vigilance not to wake the rabbit. but of course, it did. peter hopped out of its kennel.

the gorilla approached the kitchen, extremely famished. the kitchen floor was made out of marble and the gorilla could barely balance itself – “i didn’t eat no banana, must have been moni the monkey”. 

no reds, vegetarian options, please.  the winsome alluring elongated orange dipped in the sour cream dip. peter did not like the sight of that and threw a fit. 

the gorilla approached the porch and settles on the grass. it soon spots a bamboo tree, its staple. peter exclaims: “bob’s your uncle, fanny’s your aunt!” 

okay, cut. 

that was it.

a beginning without “one day”, or “far far away”. a flawed salutation and a whimsical impulse to get to mars – but the aircraft merely lifts off and realises its shortage of beef burgers, thus hindering the journey to Mars.

“turn back, turn back, we need more beef burgers”.

he never spoke, he only stared. he never cried, he only sniffled. he never saw, he only imagined.

an end without “the end”, or “they lived happily ever after”.

something about him continues to intrigue me. or perhaps, its the overpowering sensation of the sour cream that enhances my delusions.

gorillas in pink bathrooms might just be what we need to start something that never exists.

at least that is what my heart insists.

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