The Collector walks home

I save snatches of conversations in mason jars until they’ve filled my arms.  I write my best thoughts onto parchment and roll them into my mind’s satchel and feel it bounce against my hip with each step.  I save my highlights reel painstakingly on micro-film to be played back from the comfort of your lap.  And the stories of my day are woven into tapestries that I carry on my back me like a cloak billowing behind, lengthening with the day’s shadows.  Until finally.  Finally.  I see you.  And when i see you, all the trinkets and souvenirs I’ve accumulated through my day– are yours.

Because your laughter, is like summer wind chimes in a brisk breeze.  It floats through me, and carries me with you.  My stories are brought to life not by my words but by the furrow of your brow or the concerned turn on the corner of your lips, or your hands on your hips, and your smile and moist kiss at the end.  And my life is made complete by sharing the time spent without you– with you.  I hope you feel the same way too.

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