Thomas W. P. Slatin

It’s the little details I remember; the last things that people say as they are leaving. The way I feel at specific moments, whether good, bad or somehow inexplicably indifferent. I still remember at the end of the summer when I was 16. I had a crush on a close friend, and I still remember the last thing that she said when she was leaving. I still remember her talking about dreams and rumored desires. Hers to marry a rich, wealthy man, and be the mother of his children, mine to be happy and successful in whatever happened to come my way, and if I ended up being happy, then happiness was what truly mattered. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t…