Hoarding Colored Rags

by Jared Axelrod
July 8th, 2006

I remember your touch, your taste, the way your mouth curled slightly when you said my name. Everything about you that made me happy, I’ve copied and cached. I can call it up with a thought, or a few key strokes if it’s unusual. The odd high note your voice lilted into when you laughed at my joke when we ate at the Nyala, the way you tied my boot lace, the odd jiggle-dance you did when no one was around but me and that blind street musician. Everything I ever liked about you is now recorded and filed. I keep hard copies in that safe you gave me.

So don’t bother coming around anymore, okay? Please. You’re just embarrassing yourself.

And you’re ruining my memories.