Years ago, I sat on a bench at VCU and told a girl that I had burned every picture of us together. I thought that was what you were supposed to do when you hate someone. I actually ripped one in half, but I couldn’t make myself do it to the rest of them. A real romantic would probably burn them. Once I realized that everything that ever happens is probably my fault, I was still too juvenile to believe it. I sat on the floor of my room tonight, cleaning under my bed and sofa. I reached to the back and pulled out the Vans shoebox containing every memory I have left of that time period in my life. I slid the box into the bag of all the things it was time to let go of.
It’s almost summer though, so I can’t wait to get back into laying around at Puddingstone park all day.
