(no subject)
it's weird. i always complain about how i just don't have any pictures of a big gulf of my life. maybe i have a few, but nothing notable. so i keep my old clothes, because that's the only way i keep those memories.
it's weird packing them up, moving them to another house. our first home. looking at them. that's me in a box.
it's my ghost in a box. and the poor guy is still roaming in the fog. maybe he'll finally make it home, with the birth of the new little one.
also, here's the greatest pair of jeans in the history of time. i'll never forget getting them. rachel got me out of the house and took me to the thrift shop/tattoo parlor that kept beer in the vending machine under a secret button. see. so i keep them.
it's weird packing them up, moving them to another house. our first home. looking at them. that's me in a box.
it's my ghost in a box. and the poor guy is still roaming in the fog. maybe he'll finally make it home, with the birth of the new little one.
also, here's the greatest pair of jeans in the history of time. i'll never forget getting them. rachel got me out of the house and took me to the thrift shop/tattoo parlor that kept beer in the vending machine under a secret button. see. so i keep them.