Find a body that can carry this weight, a mind that can carry these memories.

There’s not much of Ocky and Betty in there, how do I reconcile how old I was with what I should have done, how would I even have done it. Somewhere there’s a picture, or a negative, of a business’ glass front door in New Jersey, and reflected there is the younger me, in shorts, shorts! Holding the 35mm camera, you can’t see my young face, and hell when even was that. The camera is gone, the business gone, that child is gone, grandparents gone, is Jersey even still there. There are photos of bread in a bakery, moving along a conveyor. No pictures of Ocky, no Betty. Not even the hollow, black metal door to the garage that I loved the sound of when it closed.

And even if a tiny smidge was left, what to do with that. Who wants it?

I keep seeing the end of humans, the world repaired by itself long after, even the endless waste has been smashed and reclaimed by tectonic time slowly wiping away all the mess into magma. I don’t feel bad about it.