Questions swarm up when a life returns to the suitcase; when the pictures leave the wall and leave white spots behind. Going through the rubble, trying to decide what to keep and what to throw away. Which of the lived moments will get to stay with you?
There is never any going back. If you're lucky, you'll still fit in somehow. But just a little bit off. Every little bit of memorabilia asking to be judged, turning every object, desire, and experience over and over before it finds its way into memory.
All the time looking around, seeing the inhabited room slowly return to its original emptiness...its geometrical reality. The whiteness of the walls staring at you; challenging you to make sense of the past days and months. And bit by bit your life seems diminished...wondering what imprint - if any - will linger behind. Whether these parts you swore you'd never need again will take on a life of their own in your absence.
And still folding up, packing down, tucking away every single thing that made this a home. Hoping you'll find another one waiting.
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