I think of the places I could write love letters to, the places that could become humans, things I have loved enough to pay postage for. Things I have loved enough to document, to feel curiosity for, to spike my mood, to give things to. I gave things to the sea and to the path next to the sea, the scraggly rocks leading down into the water at high tide and to a small skinny strip of beach at low tide, a skinny strip and a foul familiar smell, the smell of home. I gave things to the parking lot of ShopRite, something I won’t ever get back, but I also gave things to the alleyway in Philly full of sparkling rocks, when I could not control myself. The sparkles thrown on the ground felt like they were mind, like they were all I needed, and I could not even wrap them up and put them in my pocket. I gave things to the Keyport waterfront, when the ocean was frozen, when you could walk on ice over it and feel the waves beneath you, pulling you closer, pushing you farther away. I gave things to the high school, I gave things to the parking lot where someone shot himself.
Black and white pictures and text on confetti paper
Pamphlet stitched / 8.5 inches by 5.5 inches / 24 pages
Self published, 2016
Edition of 25
Out of print
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