work. this is a metaphor.

a man working is a magnet. busy, occupied, engaged, distracted. sometimes moving, sometimes thinking. you, the decoration, are not the focus. you're a step away, placed within his vision, but adjusted like flowers in the background.

you're busy. i'm close enough to you to see you unless i squeeze my eyes shut, splayed out on the floor. i always prefer being smaller than i am, balled up, tightened and locked down. but now i'm all stretched limbs and unfolded - immobilized and vulnerable.

you leave me there. i wait. you tell me to keep my hands busy while you work. i'm not to enjoy, not to do anything other than exist for your needs, but only when they materialize. which is not now, because

you're busy. occupied, engaged, distracted. sometimes moving, sometimes thinking. me, the decoration, i am not the focus. sometimes i can see what you're working on - and it's lovely. i can see why you do it. but it's not about what i enjoy - in fact, it's not about what i want at all.

this doesn't make me sad. i'm splayed out on the floor for your pleasure, and when you need me, i'm ready.