"Whatch you lookin' at? I don' wantch yo' phone number!"-- Emiah, grade K
In two years, you will call me and tell me the mistake you made like the others who shirked love when they looked to other seas for nourishment when before them a nymph reached out a drowning hand pulling and waning through waves of life or some glory that looked like hope and then you will say that the mistake you made was a sorry one but somehow the one you wanted turned awry and left you with nothing but a seed in her belly by someone else that was not you or me or anyone important. Some nothing. And I will lay there thinking of another past and another future that someone else will call a fantasy. In the meantime there are things to do and beds to make and steps to put forward in the grey outside that is not home or here or anywhere that brings a smile to the face or a dance to the step. Those conversations and trinkets are what matter.
So look at the images and remember if you can.