“women forget all those things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget.” ― zora neale hurston
in a docile attempt to close the gulf - she shares a memory from a time of red ant colonies and tiny, sour, green apples lined with salt. who doesn’t want to remember old tenderness? each detail revelling in its own light. a single peach shared in a brooklyn loft; fell in love as soon as he bit into the flesh after her, a kiss of sorts in the mingling of spit.
