Writing practice, May 22 2015

It hits you. You stand before the same memory castle where you store, among other relics, bands you used to like. In the rooms of one drowned memory, a light goes on and a woman appears. You can’t make out her face. You were never good at faces. But you were good at hands so you see her hands. They hold two things: No Doubt’s first tape and a letter. She hands you the letter, and you open it while wondering what she’s going to do with the tape. As you wonder, she puts metal wire headphones with torn mesh coverings over her ponytail and hits play on the waterproof Walkman you got for Christmas in 1994. You see her red cross-red nail polish glisten in the… sun? Is that a sun? She stands outside your memory mansion in the sun. You didn’t realize you’d come back outside. The castle is so far away now, but she is still there. You can’t see her face, she is listening to your old things, and she has handed you a letter. You feel the only way you can.

May 22, 2015