. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I COLLECT YOUR ISSUES

LIKE A MAGAZINE

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Monday, November 26, 2007

it

I always try to remember the very last time I can see you. So I watched you walk home today from my bay window. Jeans, slippers, brown crocheted/knitted thing on. Your bag slung across you. Two white papers in your left hand. Hair down. And you walked in the garage door and I missed you.

Peace out.

1 comment:

S. said...

it's stuff like this in my life that i never, ever forget.