Alec Cizak

Memory Pockets

Alec Cizak

You wear your memory like perfect-fitting slacks. And like any good pants, pockets rest high on the side, little caverns you can stuff your hands into and let your fingers walk around.

Sometimes, your pinky brushes against a memory, drinks the texture of a moment you no longer control.

The first time you kissed a girl and meant it; The first time you stood up to unreasonable authority and paid the price; The first time you fled from a place of love so scary, so unusual, you didn’t recognize yourself.

Your thumb and middle finger snap snap snap to pull you from the dream of second chances while your ring finger traces torn seams and reminds you it is naked.