every once in a while, we stick our hands in those pockets and remember. the people. the memories. the events. like last night, when i saw kids i've gone to school with since i was 8 and we joked and laughed and smiled (albiet, some under the heavy influence of alcohol) and talked about middle school days of having lockers in the hole and not being able to get our yearbooks until after our 8th grade trip and having to scrub penises off the lockers and being scared of the "no PDA!" rule but doing it anyway behind the teacher's backs and hopping the fence to the mcdonalds after school and then taking our cones to the park and just swinging and laughing and being because the world was just westmont, il and we were 12 and we were happy...
that's a pocket so worn, so comfortable, that i almost forget it's there sometimes.
but it feels like such a trivial pocket. sometimes i feel like my pockets are just that -- very typical elementary school, middle school, went to high school, stumbled across this faith i'm trying to live in right now, and was all in all very.... small.
what about your pockets? how deep to they lie? what do you hide when the world goes to sleep? is it okay that the people around you have those pockets that they do keep to themselves....?
it's scary to realize that you just belong in one pocket of someone's life.
but maybe that's more scary than that is how much you can love a person.. despite all the hidden, change-jingling pockets that you'll never see.