Paper hearts, elastic soul. Glass bones, glossy tears. Drawn on gaze, painted smile, sculpted chest, chiseled jaw line. Original Americana, muscle cars, coffee cups, Tom's diner, drive in movies, cinematic masterpieces Archie comics, Sunday paper. The New York Times, postage stamps. Fireworks, skipping rope. Twirling phone cords. Yellow Ticonderoga pencils. Model airplanes. The lingering scent of Chanel No.9 in common workplaces. Plastic tea cups. Matchbooks with the names of whatever restaurant my parents went to several nights before. Spearmint gum. Amusement parks, personalized mugs with a strangers name close enough to my own, later recalled due to being laced with chemicals otherwise known to cause cancer and other diseases in the state of California. Colored ink jet printers. Finger painting. Zoos. Bookstores. Putting puzzles together just to have them miss four of the most important pieces lost. The first Wrestlemania. Ballparks. Watermelon seeds that trail around. Ants ruining a picnic. Plastic waterbottles with some botched, knock off character printed on them. Old calendars from 1997 that I kept because the picture for April had a hammerhead shark. Silent films. Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe. James Dean featuring Marlon Brando. Cement stars. Telescopes. Apollo 11. The Jaws and Jurassic Park franchise. Poetry, rose gardens. Dried flowers and ticket stubs I swore I would put in a scrapbook highlighting my adolescence. Pearl earings displayed in a seashell shaped soap dish. Terra cotta planters. Popsicle sticks with shit puns. French manicures. Button down shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Headphones. Yellow taxicabs with novelty dice hanging from the mirror. 1950s inspired, ruffled aprons. Feather dusters. Gelatine molds, teen dating articles from magazines clueless enough to suggest transferring a mint from your own mouth to your significant others, while being entertaining enough to read at your dentist appointment. Matching headbands with your best friends. Dirty baseballs accidentally sailing through your neighbor's window. Insurance commercials. Water color kits. Pool tables. Sticking things in electrical outlets and living through the high voltage shock. Tattoo sleeves. These are the things I lived for when I didn't know I was living.
