Confession

Aside from my other everyday work, I've taken a job at a small store here in town. I am in charge of some of the purchasing and setting up displays. It takes a few hours out of my week and some Saturday mornings. I spend a good part of my time in the basement of an old building, below floorboards which bow with time and the tapping of feet above them. It's dark and quiet and at times rather lonely, but mostly it's a cozy little nook of the world where I can go with my thoughts and let them spill like packing peanuts and styrofoam.

I've never been good at letting go. If anything, people, places and memories have an eternal shelf-life in the store house of my mind. If we've met, most likely you've had an impact on me, plain and simple. Obviously there are people who have impacted my life more than others; those who have more boxes of memories, more keepsakes to unwrap during times of nostalgia. I roll back the tissue paper and gently pull out what's inside, like a package on Christmas, and a smile surfaces.

I've packed up some memories as of late and let someone out of my life, for good. I've dumped everything in a box, taped it up tight, and sent if off into some sort of void somewhere, or at least that's what I'm trying to do.