garage raze he bullies a bevy of boxes at the back of the garage with eyes that have never known what it is to weep for the loss of something precious. "why don't you let me get rid of those for you," he says. "there's no sense in keeping them. it's just a bunch of paper. mostly mildew by now, i'm sure." what he fails to understand is that my whole life is in these cardboard crates. there are clumsy comic books i built by hand back when every creature was a cat to me. stories spun out of madness and childhood imagination. gifts and greeting cards from grandparents time has ground down to dust. hymns i sang to god while telling myself i could sense him slipping in a high harmony. though it was only ever my own voice i was hearing. and there are other things that can't be contained. a bicycle my body wouldn't bully into feeling like a friend. trinkets and toys that gave me countless hours of joy. the rucksack i strapped to my sloped back and trusted to hold what i thought of as holy before a diploma dented my resolve. all of it irrefutable evidence that i was here. that i loved and was loved. that i was more than meaningless to this world that wound me like an impure pocket watch and sent me on my way. these memories might look like nothing to him. but they're everything to me. 260525 what's it to you? who go blather from