the iris in my lens is wide open everywhere i go now. i take in everything. i try at least. each new place and face and old and young sees me as i see them. naked, breathing, mortal and eternal. i have nothing to hide and nothing to gain that won’t be lost by clutching. i followed the red balloon into an alley and there she was. holding my memories in a glass jar. stained with care. sepia on purpose to make us feel sentimental. i have no use for that now. life is not sentimental, only the past. i have no use for that either.