Daisy dukes down to the floor. I know that doesn’t make sense, but her enlarging personality I wish to know. Long black hair cascading down with grace. Tan legs that reach down towards any place. Complexion of perfection, brought to you by genetic street. No cosmetic deception: yet another beautiful face I see walking around and away, never thinking of slowing their pace. One day, we’ll take a break.
They brought their desktop into Starbucks. I guess that’s better than a suitcase. Clothes thrown about the floor; flash drives left unattended. Shopping carts full of the life uncontained by any four walls you can find leave your mark on the local sidewalk we all drive by. She brought her desktop into a Starbucks. It might as well have been a suitcase.
Most memories are without dialogue. A simple tracking shot of a horizon or a face locked into a pillow will suffice. Keeping to myself was always easier, for the words that come often shatter what remains. A memory is a wish of what could’ve been. Something beautiful, something silent.