thoughts ≠ sx

baseball cards

he collected baseball cards.

i remember him turning to me, dark eyes lit up, cheeks flushed with bashfulness, telling me- i collect baseball cards.

i used to pay for a pack at the supermarket everytime i went, much to my friends' chagrin, gave the works a dollar and a penny and smiled until i placed it into his hand. eventually, it felt like it was our thing- the baseball cards. i got them from a vendor in new york city, one in manhattan, one in uptiwn. i got them from a shop in santa monica, california.

the baseball cards.

i don't quite know what to do with them now, so i rip them up and braid them into faux flowers to put on his grave.

baseball cards were never my thing, but they were his, and he was my thing.

he was my thing.

now i have hundreds of baseball cards that remind me of gold refracting off of clear irises and sharp smiles, a kiss on the cheek and a murmur of astonished gratitude.

oh, i miss you.

-

yo long time no see

samantha xo