Books crowd the shelves, old clothing awaits a comeback, and a disturbing volume of paper spills out of makeshift files while unpacked boxes of personal effects — a dusty time capsule of my life circa two moves ago — lurk in the darkest corners of my closets. For someone who owns little in terms of personal possessions, I still manage to accumulate an alarming amount of superfluous stuff that continues to shadow me from one zip code to the next. After emptying a couple of shoeboxes and discovering not a single use for anything I had stored in them, I knew it was time to weed out my belongings.
Tonight I swam in a paper sea, baffled by the logic that went into keeping this and the sentiment that compelled me to hang onto that. It was satisfying to whittle away at the oppressive weight of all I had lugged around with me through the years, but my efforts were abandoned after uncovering a gem: a stack of old letters from friends and former loves. Many good people have slipped in and out of my life over the years and rediscovering their clever, charming notes hit me with varying measures of delight and regret. Nestled among the cards and envelopes was a letter that altered the course of my life — here was a relic of a love supreme, well creased and slightly fuzzy at the edges. Reliving the discovery and joy of those lovely, heady days and the path to their bittersweet demise left me dizzy, lost in times and places left behind. I bypassed the recycling bin and tucked the note away for a little while longer; I guess I am not as ready to let go of everything as I had thought.
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