From The Roundhole

I’ve been picking them up for a while now. Always when I am somewhere I consider ‘special’, but more likely when I consider somewhere special because of the person that is with me at the time. I have dozens now. I’m not entirely sure why I do this odd little habit, I think I have a naïve, childlike imagination in that somehow they will store and hold those good memories as energy of that day, that time in space. They sit on my desk, my windowsill, and sometimes spend days and weeks in my pocket. I suppose it is foolish to think of them as magical, possessing anything other than what they really are.

They are just stones...MollyStones.