Feels Good

Memories are difficult. The weight of them fades in my head, but images and sounds press like flowers and leaves between paper. The meanings get lost, and the lessons, and the stories if I'm not careful... just leaving the ache of people I used to know.

I don't keep photos, and I rarely reconnect with people in fits of nostalgia... but I still manage to come across eyebrows and murmurs and noses and messy hair while riffling through the folds of my past for more important things.

I contort every time, and my heart molts, and my face scrunches with ambivalence.

I contort every time. I miss, and miss, and molt with the rapture of needing new.

Good feels to you