no pictures, closed eyes only

& i couldn't even bring myself to take pictures cuz they feel like such closure, like such a last-ditch effort to lock memories into place on paper, to document that which i'll never have again. & he told me not to bring souvenirs away with me, but to return instead. what's the use of mementos when they could be exchanged for reality?

these nights when we sit around in the basement in the dim red light with beer bottles building up and smoke twisting, in circles or sprawled on each other, playing music, making music, showing music, laughing too hard at our nonsensical trains of thought. these boys with their open faces and easy smiles, all indiscretion & skateboards & nonchalance. "have you thanked yr hands today? think how much yr hands do for you!"

i've fallen too hard this time, fallen too hard for this city and these people and this life, and it's harder than usual to extricate myself.