my lime pair of headphones in my pocket like a treasure.
ready to shield my ears from the harsh winds called mum.
my only photo of my parents plastered in my journal like a forbidden love letter. It gives off a blinding light of a life I could've lived.
my countless copies of books that lay forgotten in a yellow moldy bookcase in the garage. Spinets of my childhood stored in each one; ready to spill out in front of me and dance.
the army pants my mother gave me making me feel different and someone who isn't me.
my blue journal all the way from France; filled with words that have fallen from my lips in moments of anguish and sadness.