Driving past a miniature golf course years ago on our first vacation together. She asked if we could stop and play, I said yes and she almost cried, as no-one had ever stopped for anything she wanted to do on a trip. Just the option was enough, so we continued onward. There are not as many of those places left, and we broke up a long time ago, after I came out. But the bond is still strong, all those small moments that will forever hold us together, often more important than the big ones.

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A replica much smaller; putting oneself into a few words, a page perhaps. A reproduction of what’s inside. A humble offering; a raindrop, a seed, a brushstroke, a note struck in the middle of the night.

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There’s a jackalope magnet on my refrigerator door. A singer stole it from Wall Drug as he knew I had a thing for jackalopes. We haven’t spoken in years, but somehow that small gesture survives.

 

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Setting up tent among the pine cones, small houses holding the seeds of trees. The vacation didn’t really go all that well, we were too young, and hadn’t been together long enough. Still, there were moments I will always keep inside, like us making out in the waters of Lake Powell, eating at an old fashioned steakhouse in Page, Arizona, or staying at a cheap hotel in Kanab, and then driving to a world of possibilities. And the future vacations that went so well, the learning of how to get along with someone else.

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Small renderings of sound waves, reproduced into the vastness of space, vibrations brought back to life, time and again. There: I’m setting up a microphone then, and now, I can hear that moment, all these years later. Another way a gesture survives.

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A picture of the Grand Canyon is always too small, and yes, we drove within 60 miles of it on that trip, but decided to head back home.

 

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And the ball heads toward the hole. In hindsight, will it matter how we played the game, what the details were? But who can forget how that night felt, how the company held us in kindness, how the earth carried us all together, even as we moved apart. I know I have lost something along the way, but inside I carry small pieces of who I was back then.

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It all accumulates, and becomes me. Us. Everything. A blurry world of miniatures, on a larger scale, travelling among this world of things.

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and some short guitar things:

 

 

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all content by me. creative commons i guess, or something like that.

prompt that inspired this

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