He holds the lighter in his right hand and an old blanket in the left. It has a story. Grandma gave it to him when he was ten, sent it in the mail, and signed love you with a pen running out of ink. It's blue and white and crocheted with love, according to the tag on the bottom that tells him love is just another word for store bought. His grandma is a selfish b***h, sees him once or twice every five years and sends ten dollars for birthdays and holidays if she remembers. Most of the time she doesn't. She's just another memory he wants to die and as long as he has the blanket that can't happen.
Memories are spread out around him--stuffed animals, clothes, toys, anything he could get his hands on. His bear is in the closet. That memory is already fading but these are too raw, too fresh for
