some versions of the tape go like this:
wearing converses back when they were still cool. chalk on the pavement washed away with the summer rain. oversized sunglasses and crazy straws poking out from half-finished glasses of orange soda. (that's not the tape. but it's the one you wish you had at thirteen when you felt so old and you were too young to realize it. this is the kind of reel only gets replayed in memory.)
each time you rewind, the tape plays back differently. a different supercut of all the moments in your life that mattered then and no longer matter now.
a moment in time suspended beneath the chemical stain of a polaroid picture, so permanently fixed that it breaks your heart sometimes. to think that some of your best moments could be distilled down into a 4 x 6in rectangle; hung by clothespin in a bedroom for a few years, later framed on a white wall or preserved in the glossy plastic sleeve of a photo album, eventually swept away into a junk drawer and—
and when the time comes, that is how you will forget.
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