cleaning out the attic i reflect on past events, some so far away it’s hard to reflect……………..some as close as the skin on my hand………..i suppose the difference being the affect they had on this man

i begin to notice a pattern and perhaps you can identify……..the things that were mine told a story of who i am but the things we shared together told the story of the joy in life i have had

i suppose the assumption could very well be, the time we spend forging relationships with others is where the magic of life resides and the things we collect for ourselves are but trinkets on the side

”mine” is like prizes in crackerjacks…….”ours” are the jewels of our lives