monkeypoo

This morning I found in my truck a couple CDs Shawna made for herself, and forgot to get out of my truck when I took her to school. Listening to them makes me feel a bit of her with me. Although they are merely polycarbonate discs with an aluminum substrate with dark ink spots burned into them in intricate patterns, they seem to me to be so much more. Each selection is a piece of her. Every one a doorway to her most intimate destinations of self. I feel like I have stolen something from her by listening. I will return to her the discs, but I cannot give back the experience I take away from it.
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I should put them back into my truck so we have something to listen to on the way back from Marquette in less than two weeks.