March 20, 2022
My spring jacket is older than I am and the sleeves are stained with memories I cannot be sure are mine. Sometimes I wonder where it started and how it ended up in the shop to the right of the river. It might look small from the outside, when you first find yourself at its unexpected entrance, but I swear the space keeps going and if you can stand the heat (one day I could) you will find rooms of recycled moments meant to be remember and I wonder, too, where this one might go next, when it no longer belongs to me and I think, maybe, it will find its way to another corner of time and fit someone there just as well as it did me, in this one.
