Reboot

Letting go is an essential part of moving on, I know. I like to think that I’m good at it. I often am not bothered by other people and their behaviors. I’m never more at peace than when I’ve lost my keys or my wallet. I’ve purged so much from my closet that I am actually in need of clothes to wear. But things and people are easy to walk away from. I’m delusional to think I have any skill at all.

It’s the past—the secret past that I always want in my clutches. My stowed-away diaries. The dreams I awoke from suddenly and carried with me for days. The poems borne from triumph and fury. Those things I never shared but with myself. I as their sole keeper am the only one who can keep or discard them.

I used to write and receive many letters

I used to write and receive many letters

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