First Action Movie - The Double Feature Was the Film and My Father

The Harbor - Finding Safety, Memory, and the Courage to Let Go

The harbor has always felt like a place of safety—a spot where rope and wood, mast and chain, water and memory all meet. But sometimes what feels like an anchor is actually a release. In this episode of Love Letters to Forgotten Things, Bunny reflects on the quiet docks where nostalgia keeps us tied, and how every memory—every love letter—is both a keepsake and a farewell. This isn’t just about boats or harbors. It’s about all the places we hold onto too tightly, the rituals we mistake for permanence, and the moment we realize that remembering is also a way of letting go. If you’ve ever felt caught between staying tethered to the past and drifting toward the unknown, this episode is for you. Love Letters to Forgotten Things is a podcast about memory, love, and the forgotten objects and rituals that shaped us.

Nights We Lied - The Midnight Lies That Made Us Free

We weren’t lying. We were becoming. Tracks, gravestones, and the sacred buzz of a night we never gave back.

Unraveling - The Friendships That End Without Closure

Some friendships don’t explode—they just dissolve. No betrayal. No fight. Just a slow fade into silence. This is for the ones who left quietly, and the memories that still speak loud.

First Action Movie - The Double Feature Was the Film and My Father

Before we understood plot twists or box office records, we sat in the glow of something enormous—next to someone who knew what it meant. This is a tribute to that first cinematic thunderclap. The popcorn. The whip. The grin from your dad when he knew it was hitting you too. A love letter to the moment the movies became real.

Time Capsule - Holding On to What Time Won’t Let Us Keep

What do we hope to preserve when we bury the past? In this episode of Love Letters to Forgotten Things, Bunny recalls the day he sealed grief inside a homemade time capsule—believing memory, love, and loss could be frozen in the earth until the future was ready. But time had other plans. Boxes collapse, paper fades, and even the most sacred keepsakes surrender to soil. What remains is never the treasure chest we imagine, but something smaller, more fragile: a drawing, a photograph, a clipping. Proof not of permanence, but of impermanence—of how memory itself resists preservation. This isn’t just about a box buried in the woods. It’s about the rituals we create to hold onto the people we’ve lost, and the bittersweet truth that memory is always shifting, never fixed. If you’ve ever wished you could keep something—or someone—untouched by time, this reflection is for you. Love Letters to Forgotten Things is a podcast about memory, love, and the fragile objects and rituals that keep the past alive.