The dryad who lives inside the oak tree has been terrorizing the condo building dwellers for generations. She throws acorns and pours sap and drops pollen on their cars, and causes severe allergies ... [+]
I pick up the photograph of us. It's my most prized and most hated possession. You know the one. It's the one where I'm kissing you on the cheek, both of our eyes closed, our faces split in halves by wide grins. Smiles that could light up the world, and did. I sigh. What should I do with this stupid, beautiful piece of paper? Tear it up and throw the pieces in the trash? Frame it and put it in my kitchen for all to see? Frame it and put it on my dresser, to be a secret that I share with myself? I imagine discarding it in the wastepaper basket in one piece, the moment staring up at me amid dirty tissues and candy wrappers. The feeling, immortalized in time, calls to me from the past, and I call back, asking if you'll ever let me kiss you like this again. But alas, the photograph stays silent, and the moment stays encased in ‘too long ago'. I place the photograph on my nightstand, angled in front of my pillow. I know I'll see it tomorrow morning. And I know I'll drag myself through my memories of us once again.