Shoebox

I remember this, I said.

I turned it around in my hand.

It instantly took parts of my mind back,

Back to the time when I'd placed it there.

I had put these things in here during a time of transition, a time of movement, a time of change and upheaval.

I placed them here to keep them, I placed them here to remember the way I felt at that moment in my life.

I thought it was significant.

I thought it was cool.

They said something about me, these things. They told my story by illustrating the choices that I was making. The things and aesthetics that I valued.

I pictured the future viewer, looking at my collection. Understanding me and my story, told to them through these objects.

I was satisfied.

I replaced the items in the box.

I remembered.

Mostly the good, and only briefly cringed at the other, and quickly moved on.

I put the top back on as she called from the street, "The truck is here, c'mon!"

I placed the box inside a larger box and promised myself to find a proper place for these special things.

I barely resemble that person anymore.