What they leave behind.
Every date produces an artifact. These are the ones worth keeping.
Every date produces an artifact. These are the ones worth keeping.
Every date produces an artifact. These are the ones worth keeping.

water the plants OR let them judge me. library books due tuesday. mental hierarchy: crush me today vs crush me eventually. succulents don't look sad. check shower drainage first.

permit numbers? east side camping rules? ask maya about skatepark access. new tent stakes still in box. bike chain needs lube before sat

ukulele strings still in wrapper on kitchen counter. receipt dated 3 weeks ago. someone's phone number written on the back in pen that doesn't match either handwriting.

call her back what was that cafe name the one with the yellow something about listen more talk less when did i write this

buy caramel creamer tomorrow? or was it vanilla. also ask them about the social media thing. what was i saying before.

ask me about my cat — mr whiskers got stuck in walls 3 days — found him behind bathroom wall — landlord heard meowing the whole time

did i actually laugh or did i perform laughing. can you tell the difference in a photo. does the camera know.

frogged yarn still in the bag by the window. blue with silver thread. said comprehensive and exhaustive. the blanket was supposed to be yellow.

coffee shop downtown finals season someone's initials carved into the wooden table outside we never went back after that spring

question mark circled in red pen on page 47 of hitchhiker's guide. margin note: 'he uses these differently than i do' — no signature

did moths navigate by the moon or did i make that up. check radiolab. also left jacket on chair by window.

radiolab episode about migration patterns stuck on repeat. your coffee still here, ring from the mug on the napkin. did you mean to leave it or did i miss something

A screenshot saved to phone, never sent. The trail name still missing from the caption. Three exclamation points after "amazing." A notification timestamp from 6:47 PM. The link was bookmarked but never opened again.

A dog hair on the inside of a cardigan cuff, blonde and twisted. A single strand, visible only in certain light. Murphy's color, maybe. Or just any dog's. The sweater doesn't belong to either of them.

A receipt from the café next to the trailhead, dated three weeks ago. The coffee order is circled in pen—two names written above it in different handwriting, one crossed out. Below, in smudged blue ink: "2:47 PM" and a phone number that doesn't match either of them.

receipt from dry cleaner. dated thursday. coffee stain in corner. phone number written on back in blue pen. not theirs.

blue bandana tied to the fence post at mile marker 3. still there? need to know if you found the shortcut or went the long way around.

numerator script + lucida console + helvetica neue + gertrude + cellar door + vending machine clip-clop + distillery. did we ever agree on anything or just talk past each other the whole time

new orleans address written on back of napkin. no street name, just the number. 1247. and below it: 'joy even through' with the rest crossed out so many times the pen went through the paper.

bear mountain trail map (folded twice, corner torn). pottery studio address written on back in blue pen, then crossed out. phone number below it with question mark.

bing bing bing - check record stores on 5th, the one with the blue awning. also: does anyone actually know if moths use the moon or did i dream that

maybe someday a dog from a shelter. golden retriever or mixed breed—something that just wants to hang out. someone who doesn't need me to be perfect, just present. like sunsets. like being enough as you are.

they notice the same beautiful things — fonts, sounds, words that fit together like they were always meant to. the way she lights up talking about aristocrat letters. how he gets it. how she smiles at the coffee shop owner about their shared thing. cellar door. that's what this is. two people finding elegance in the same unexpected places.