there are certain sparks, little blips of memories that light up in my brain like the bulb of the flash on an old camera - like in movies when the photographers and reporters bombard the pretty little gem; she’s all wide-eyed and red-lipped - and in that instant when the flash bulb goes off (often times in slow motion, do you see it?) you witness the purest grasp of emotion on her face, mostly because she’s scared and also because she’s sad, but it’s so raw and fucking real that you feel happy. these half-second glimpses are what i see when i think of you, and i think of you all the time. your nose to my nose. then dark. my face buried in your shirt. fade to black. an embrace. and our fingers intertwined.