Last Again
His cheeks burned as the line of boys dwindled. In the outfield, daydreams of ninja skills brought a grin. The baseball fell at his feet.
Bookmark
In the book, tucked so to hold a page, a postcard bought written never sent to anyone, least of all the person the words meant to address.
Moving Time
Plaster never mends as neatly as it implodes. Another house with his scar of childhood. Another memory peeling at its poorly spackled edges.