Yellow like the days under the sun where I spent my summer burying my swimsuit into the sand.
Yellow like the leaves of the trees at the mountain home that hide the deer and our fears.
Yellow like the dandelions that I plucked my love from and blew my wishes away.
the sound of my dad’s guitar playing his favorite chords the typing of my mom’s fingers going through family records the smell of the ceramics studio full of the kiln, dust and glaze the running home
it’s the little things they always say like how you listen more than you ever have before or how you stopped opening my car door like how you squeeze me tighter in our hugs or how you don’t answer me
I cant remember the last photo i took maybe it was a mountain maybe my niece maybe myself maybe you looking away no matter what it was it’s the last thing my lense has seen which means it means everyt