yesterday afternoon i dropped my polaroids into a mail box. a carefully planned impulse. around 3:30 in the morning, i panicked.
they are my favorite polaroids. each a distinct and exact moment in time. a memory i hold. no one will love them like i love them and i let them go. i was reminded, however, that someone else can love them and interpret them in a way completley different than i did, but still get a glimpse of what i discerned. they might not return to me, but, if they do go home with someone else, they will only do so because the someone else felt something too.
on the train to sacramento, for a valentine’s date, a tiny plant on the table, wearing my new dress and feeling perfectly old-fashioned.
the lamp in my san diego room, whose light cast such cool patterns across the wall, invisible in this representation, an unexpectedly-good photograph.
the slaughtered trees outside my old high school which i jogged to mid-afternoon to photograph, only to have to return later, when school was out and the parking lot empty so i could stand on the hood of my car to capture it, clutter-free, the sounds of a creditor being placated over the phone a haze in the background.
two doors in a mural on a san franciscan wall, one of my first adventures with one of my now very-best friends.
an orange-doored house across from a run-down diner in central nevada, a rainy day on the last family road trip before everything changed.