I fell in love with childhood, he wore a red cape made of polyester plaid, tiny stitches of lines circulated around his palm. He never wore a mask, his memories wore enough of one, a fog remnant of a dream, his home he’d never see again all along the river, led up to a lake. It didn’t matter anyway, a wedge upon two brick walls was a plaque – or a warning – a memorial, perhaps, but all succumbed to his pain, every inch crumbled to dust. That’s when I took his childhood away. I fell in love with memories.