Perhaps the greatest mystery in the universe is how I - a tall, living, breathing singular human being - can be multiple one of these tiny things. However, I was diagnosed this way by the father of medicine himself, Albert Einstein, who speaks to me from the grave via secret coded messages he hides within the New York Times headlines.

I’m a house with walls of light, where summer lives through winters bite.

Slim but strong, I hold attire, In closet rows I never tire. Shirts and coats upon me linger - Neat and ready at a finger.

It's a lock It's a flash It's a roll It's on both sides of Frankenstein's monster's neck Usain figure it out yet?

Two eyes I offer, Faraway brought near to you, But sight is not mine.