Trying my hand at brevity and containment thanks to my friends and fellow writers Mesa Fama & Stephanie. Thank you for serving as a constant source of inspiration, friendship, and support.

I’ve been digging. Dumping boxes, the scent of moist memories wafts from torn, pages and smiling faces on glossy paper. Me the center of disordered piles —  a sacrifice. Blurred attempts at capturing fleeting joy, firsts, and lasts. All those beautiful boys on a stage so close but distant. Nascent moments of a life I riffled through, burned away, took for granted. Pressed dried roses and matchbooks. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Evidence? Proof that I was there? Proof that I existed within those delicate pockets of time when everything was eternal and all I felt was hope?