Friday, December 6, 2013

Memory #894



Memory #894



As we grow older, we acquire more unlabeled boxes. Every time I move, I leave behind traces of my life. Loved ones keep my forgotten belongings in the corners of their attics.
My own attic isn’t nearly full. There are organized areas.
 
The boxes neatly labeled and stacked. That time he and I traveled to Portugal, or when I laughed till I cried and I didn't even know your name. My young heart's divisions and the places I planned to go to.

I keep all your letters too. Layers of thick fiber paper that seem to protect me. Oh, you still make me laugh. Has it been that long? I digress; that happens.

Sometimes I consider getting an extra lock; it might keep me from rearranging. It gets heavy sometimes.
Recently, I moved. My rooms are empty. I'm trying not to unpack the worn looking boxes. They'd fill up the space and the emptiness is soothing.

On the second day the mailman came all the way up to the last floor. He even took the stairs while there is an elevator. He handed me a colorful box, it had come all the way from NY. It was full of stories. 

You even make me laugh when you're not here.

I was up there today: I can't throw anything out. I heard you could rent spaces cheaply nearby and store as much as you want. I might do that one day. Not now. As I said, there is plenty of space. I just need to keep it organized a bit.














No comments:

Post a Comment