Snapshots from a summer of texts, road trips, and…

1:00 pm

I put the Brita back in the fridge and check my phone. Trevor is playing PS4 on the couch. He pauses the game. He…

These things are souvenirs. Patchy pieces and unwashed t-shirts and bandanas you left on my floor.

Also this borrowed sweater you never asked for before I asked you for a break.

These are found objects and sometimes I look to them to remember you in my bedsheets.

I have trouble writing my own bio. The one for my #advertising portfolio website that mabye two recruiters a year will read, that is. Is anyone good at it? Condensing years of existence into a few lines? Why does it feel easy then ridiculous and excruciating? What begins innocent turns on itself. I sit down at my…