I was 8 years old and it took 3 weeks – three 8 year old weeks, imagine – to gather everything I would need to become Batman.
Rope, boomerangs, a Mardi Gras mask with the beads cut off. I couldn’t find a cave near my house so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy.
For years after, I tried to find that spot again. The ivy grew too fast. I searched in so many spots, it seemed impossible that I has missed one, but I never found it.
How can something be there and then not be there?
How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?
• David Doc Luben, 'fourteen things from love letters or suicide notes'
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Everyday She Tries
PoetryYou fell in love with my flowers, but not my roots so, when autumn came, you didn't know what to do. ------ Quotations, lyrics and short poems I find vehement, put together. Check it out?
