Home Again (A (kind of) stream of consciousness.)
I look through the same drawer of old shit every time I come home even though the contents never change. There's a stack of 7 wallet sized senior portraits of my high school friends, a letter from my dad, some Clinique moisturizer (the yellow kind), a broken necklace from the Japanese restaurant where I celebrated my 16th birthday, some butterfly clips,…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Yeah, I'd Hang Out With Her to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.