God knows why, but I'm opening the boxes at last. So much kept inside.
Things. They are varied: letters from people I barely remember and some I can't forget, scribbled reminders to do something or go somewhere, notes of love and termination, dispatches from the culture wars, even a set of Jesus pencil toppers, one for each of my mortal sins, all kept in decorative Lebkuchen chests that may as well be buried alongside me in the end since they're unlikely to survive on their own.
The rules of keepage are simple: everything kept was important in the moment, and in that moment it was kept. My m.o. is to remember why.
Item 1: An empty pack of smokes from 1988. Stay tuned.
Things. They are varied: letters from people I barely remember and some I can't forget, scribbled reminders to do something or go somewhere, notes of love and termination, dispatches from the culture wars, even a set of Jesus pencil toppers, one for each of my mortal sins, all kept in decorative Lebkuchen chests that may as well be buried alongside me in the end since they're unlikely to survive on their own.
The rules of keepage are simple: everything kept was important in the moment, and in that moment it was kept. My m.o. is to remember why.
Item 1: An empty pack of smokes from 1988. Stay tuned.
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