those things you left behind

those little words and doodles you left behind...I kept.

those clippings and arrangements you didn't tape down yet, I secured.

that wet paint was dried by my cherished thought of sharing.

I like new things. but I like old and worn and rusty things better. art is a balance of this.
-picked up and shared art is on the verge of worn.
-picked up and shared art is on the verge of caring.

I know you take these things very personally. sometimes, enough to keep only inside. You share it with me and I feel like a part of that intimate secrecy of art that is public only in our conversation.

that one thing...that collage....I still have. we don't talk anymore but I still have it. is that weird?
it still means something to me...so I guess not.

it took a while but now you know I like you to share. Isn't it special when our rust matches and can mingle? Is any rust the same or does the tarnish just match because of intention?

those melodies come from song and words and pictures and arrangement and splatter.

I don't think you know how talented you are. I don't think you know how proud it can make me to see your work. It may be old, it may be new, but either way, it's collected-in boxes, in stacks, in albums-folded and kept.

My stuff kind of blends in. Why can I throw out some of mine? Maybe my rust is unwanted by anyone but I'd rather feel good about the sharing of yours, than the popularity of mine. Maybe yours conjures up the feeling or inspiration that I want and cannot grasp in mine.

those words you say i might even write down. otherwise the folded memories may not be tangible to remember.

- those words, that pulp, that color, that sound. I still have.

-keep on sharing. whether you realize it or not I like to listen.