I lay on the bed and lose myself in the stories. Her stories are boring and stuff. But, her stories are better than books, and not a lot of things are better than books. And when someone goes, all you have is the stories they've shared and the ones you are a part of. One minute is not the same as the next, time lacks consistency. Sometimes an hour in the mind is a minute in the physical.
One of them was in San Francisco and the other was in Manhattan. They were jealous of each other. It always seemed much more pleasant in the other person's world. There are a hundred places where one could sleep tonight, but they safely chose places on opposite sides of what seemed to be the world. Separate coasts. They each had to have an ocean to themselves. One full of sound, the other full of color.
Fitzgerald said that you never know exactly how much space you occupy in someone's life. And when people are far away, it's even harder to tell. So the stories fade, and the seasons change, and the sweater weather moves in without warning.
So you decide the only thing left to do is wear your heart on your sleeve and hope to be found.
heart sweater by Wildfox
pink kitten sunglasses by Wildfox
pink glitter shoes from Trash and Vaudeville
photos by Juan Beltran