history

Your small honeysuckle necklace, I am so sorry, has it been
over tens of years, since we are theories of fossils, beginning magic spells and worm bodied hieroglyphs spelling the ways our heels burned hot under breaks of razor scooters down Maria hill.'

The creek and crawdads grazing my feet until we walked miles down past schools in the summer, where on a rock he said yes to poetry and i said yes to whatever. The garage, The empty dust on couches and an analog video camera that felt everything was important.

I drunkenly send videos of beautiful music to loved ones, but only sometimes, when i"m thinking of Ohio or Indiana as home though it was more of a place of couches and grilled cheese. I miss it none the less, in the rain alone, knowing they both were eroding bricks holding up stories i would tell later.