The Same
by Cass Madden
· 08/02/2026
Published 08/02/2026 12:36
The kid asked me to draw a house.
My hand moved
through the motions
I've moved through
a thousand times.
Triangle.
Always the same angle.
The pencil knows
where the line
should end.
Square below it.
The proportions
are automatic.
I don't think.
My hand thinks.
Door in the center.
Window in the upper left.
Always left.
Never right.
Never two.
Just
one,
in the place
it's always been.
The kid said
it was nice.
They didn't notice
I drew
the same house
I drew
last week,
last month,
whenever
someone
asked.
But I noticed.
My hand moved
through muscle memory
of a house
that isn't real,
that has
never been
real,
that is just
the house
that comes
out
when
you
ask
for
a
house.
The kid drew
theirs
after.
Windows
everywhere.
A door
on the
roof.
No rules.
No repetition.
Just
a
house
that
was
new
every
time
the pencil
moved.
I looked
at
mine
next
to
theirs.
I looked
like
someone
who
decided
a
long
time
ago
what
a
house
should
be
and
never
changed
their
mind.
The triangle.
The square.
The door.
The window.
The
same
house.
Forever.