sleeves3

 He sat at home that day, because there wasn't much outside to do. He could try, but it wouldn't give him much result. So he replayed the hits on his computer.

The photo galleries, the posts, the dry erase boards - wiped clean, but still showing the ghosts of that long-gone marker ink. He could still read the words, and remember what he was thinking 1,2, 5 years ago. 

"Some things never change, huh?" He said to himself.

Just like with the whiteboard, the ghosts of words he never wrote to true memory, were the photographs. There were the pictures of people long gone from his life, but still living in his memories. They were living there rent free, what a pleasure that must be.

He scrolled through the pictures, for what felt like the last time, because eventually it would be. Every time he went back, he went back less and less.

Every time he erased that whiteboard, something different was gone forever. One day he'd have bleach or something that would permanently clean it.