From The Grass

He is telling me I am trivializing that afternoon. I’ve been interested lately in how our memories looks so different from those we share them with. How can our heads be so close in the grass and our view of that time be so vastly colored, so biased, so other. I am in no way arguing that my rendering of our time together is the accurate one.

We both know I’ve never been good at telling the truth.

This picture of me was taken by Max Lowe in a cabin in Montana. I’ve been wondering about this girl again lately. She wrote to me, a letter while the hills were on fire and it said: Don’t Forget. 

We come such a long way sometimes, we circle like vultures over our mistakes and make them again.


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