stolen

there's a shoebox full of letters in a language i can hardly read. years ago, when my mother was packing up her things so she could sell her house and move to a small island, she created piles and piles of objects she didn't want to take with her.

i took this box when she wasn't looking.

i don't think i have the right to read any of these letters, even if i could piece together the glyphs into sentences, thoughts, ideas. but i didn't think she had the right to throw them away.

all objects are just objects, i tell myself. but some objects seem more precious than others.

they will all be dust someday.

04 December 2018 00:02