It could have been Christmas, with the boxes scattered all over the worn hard wood floor. Big boxes, little boxes, boxes filled with things of a lifetime past. A lifetime that was packed up 10 months ago, waiting to emerge. Calling out, with each item hiding inside. Wondering at what point they would rush back into my life.
These boxes held my memories. Memories of lives past, of things that appear different from when I once had them strewn around a warm Los Angeles apartment, or a cold Brooklyn loft. Yes indeed things were different now. Not only have I lived many lives, these boxes now have as well. Being moved 3,000 miles to a garage, down to a basement, back to a garage, to a truck and into another home.
For each time I pulled my box cutter across the tape a new surprise would pop out. Books from my childhood, scripts, items from movie premiere's, my frying pan. Who was this person? I look at these items with curiosity trying to place who exactly she was in my brain. Movie premiere's? A childhood long since passed... I can't quite figure her out, and yet become nostalgic for her all the same.
Other thing have changed too. The world has changed. It's not just me. It's finding a shirt with an intact New York skyline on it; or pictures from a marriage that is since broken. The images all look happy enough, never to know what kind of miserable end they would encounter. I piece it all together one by one, but still don't understand. How did things get to be this way? How did I get to be this way?
All of this is neither good nor bad, it just is. Each box is my time capsule. It reminds me of you, or you, or you, my friends, my family, my loves, everything that has made me, me. But who am I know? It all remains to be seen.
Just a girl. Unpacking once again, for these boxes have sat through many moons to once again be torn open to find their treasures (or tragedies) inside.
No comments:
Post a Comment