It looks like you’re trying to piece together a fragmented search query or lyric snippet:
Then last month, in a basement archive at a small college, I opened a box labeled Personal Effects – J. Griffith, c. 2004 . Inside: a mix CD-R with “She’s Changed” Sharpied on the surface, a broken silver locket, and a letter that began: Searching for- janice griffith she s changed re...
Here’s an attempt:
“You’ll look for me. When you do, you’ll say I’ve changed. But the truth is — you never let me change in front of you before.” It looks like you’re trying to piece together
I never knew who Janice was. But for years, I searched. Inside: a mix CD-R with “She’s Changed” Sharpied
Not on Facebook — too clean. Not on LinkedIn — too corporate. I searched in late-night YouTube comments (“this reminds me of Janice G”), in the liner notes of obscure 90s indie CDs, in the acknowledgments of poetry collections printed in editions of 200. I found a Janice Griffith who designed circuit boards in Austin, another who fostered retired racing greyhounds in Vermont. Neither felt right.
If you’re open to it, I can turn this into a short piece of creative nonfiction or micro-fiction — as if someone is searching for a former friend, lover, or muse named Janice Griffith, haunted by the phrase “she’s changed.”