Sweater. 24th birthday, green cashmere. Like my eyes.
Torn jeans. She knew it was my aesthetic. They look great with Docs.
Black ring. Like obsidian.
Sneakers, stained with cream soda from a summer afternoon. Hand holding in the warm honey sky.
Piece of glass, buried under a t-shirt. From the mirror in the hall.
My attempt at painting. Canvas, torn to strips of angry colors. Whoever said painting expresses emotion couldn't be more true.
Favorite mug. Smashed until the cat's face was in four parts. The mouth doesn't even line up with the nose, because a tiny bit skittered and hid under the fridge.
Splinters of what was. What I wished could be. Dashed to shreds.