a shell so pink it looked fake.
sand in my bag that’s still there, probably permanent now.
a sunburn on my left shoulder only —
which says something about how i was sitting
and who i was facing,
and i’m not going to say more than that.
a receipt from a place i’d go back to.
a song i heard through someone else’s speaker
that i’ve been trying to find ever since.
the specific weight of a tuesday afternoon
when nothing was happening
and it was enough.
summer leaves evidence.
little things that don’t mean anything
until you’re clearing out your bag in october
and you find the shell
and remember the whole day.
you don’t choose what it keeps.
it chooses.
— noa
