The Memory Collectors

by Dete Meserve

The only thought that comes to me in my nervous state is to minimize eye contact. Everything lies. Except the eyes. Didn’t Van Gogh—or maybe it was Tupac—say that?

But I cannot live in the present and the past at the same time. I reach for Mark’s hand, and as my fingers close around his, I choose to live in this moment with him and embrace it for all it has to offer.