(no subject)
Some people collect stamps. We collect dried leaves, pieces of confetti, pieces of each other, placed inconspicuously on bookshelves and nightstands. Everything reminds me of someone. Orange looks like her, Muddy Waters sounds like him, and I am always surrounded by hearts, accidental, imperfect. I see them everywhere. I've decided to archive them, in photographs, marked with times and locations, bind them together, give them all to her, every single one I see. We collect hearts. We fill our pockets with them until the seams tear. We collect deep blue eyes and songs from the radio, cold hands, tipped canoes.
They're just so much more rewarding.