THINGS I WANT TO REMEMBER

When I was five, I lived on 16th avenue. There are bits and pieces in which resonate my mind every so often. I remember marriage. I remember writing on the walls and baby corn and naps on the couch. The first time I got the chicken pox. I remember it all so well and I was so small, not aware of the feelings that consumed me the way they did others. The curls on my head grew, along with my mother and father. There were times when my dad would wake me up a half an hour later than I did for school just to let me sleep in. He would sometimes pick me up in the middle of the day and let me leave. This was the prime of my childhood. It was the constant reassurance that I was loved – and it came unconditional. It did not have any rules. It breathed on its own. It swallowed up every fiber in my body, structuring me, molding me as I am now. I just want to write. I don’t know what about. But it will be pages long, and I’ll continue until I feel like I cannot anymore. These are the things I wish I’d said.

my mind is always everywhere. i live for words. sometimes they aren't my own, and i post them here. sometimes i will post things that are mine. this blog is a collection of photographs i take and the things that i want to remember.

things - my things - personal

~ Sunday, December 25 ~
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it’s funny how the mind associates things with other things. how i associate the taste of honey with the smell of your skin. how i can’t help but think of the color of your eyes when i see a thundercloud. 

i miss the way you’d sometimes stumble over your words when you were thinking too hard.

sometimes i think it’s unfair when october rolls around. do you remember how, on mischief night, we made love in the backseat of your rusty pickup truck while those silly twelve-year-olds threw eggs at the windows? remember how the runny wet yolk of one dripped through the crack in the moonroof and landed by the corner of my eye, and how you thought i was crying?

and in some ways, i don’t want to look back on the carcasses of jack-o-lanterns left on our doorstep, the ones we forgot about weeks after halloween because we spent days stowed away in our bed, under thick covers, pressed close as one. i don’t want to look back on the way their carved smiles rotted and their eyes melted. the way their insides bruised and stained and decayed. we’d always leave them out until they turned into skeletons.

today’s idiom from my chengyu calender read, “one day, three autumns,” meaning when you miss somebody, twenty-four hours can feel like one thousand and ninety five days.

i miss your laugh, your tired gaze, the tangled curls of your hair. you.

Tags: Things
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