A dull pencil is greater than the sharpest memory. - an English proverb
He passed every day on his skateboard.
He passed the suburban cookie cutter houses, passed the perfectly trimmed grass and the advertisements for chain stores, passed the street signs named after nature that never existed, passed the boxes stacked in the yard like a brick and mortar defense.
He stared at all our familiar objects strewn across the lawn as we tried to make a house a home.
He came like a regular deviation in the long weeks I spent in my room.
I was new and I didn’t have friends. I had nowhere to go and no way to get there. I sat in my room and traded pastimes for purpose.
Draw, write self-indulgent poetry, listen to music, eat, sleep, die.
I stared at him as he passed. I drew pictures of him on old receipts. Back then I was always falling in love with people I’d never met and places I’d never been.