A box

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And there I was, confused, in front of a box of shoes, which contained the last two years of my life. As I took every single memory out of the box, I wondered would I need another one? Maybe two? Or three? How many memories can one collect before he gets tired and just starts throwing them away, choosing not to remember? And what is actually worth remembering? A kiss? A smile? A hurtful comment, perhaps?

Will I turn into one of those women, living alone in a house full of memories, being no longer alive? Should I keep every piece of mind? Should I encircle myself with objects of past moments? Will it do me any good going back to the past, though I felt happier back then?

So many questions revolved around my head, whose answers, unfortunately, I did not find in the box. Perhaps I need a bigger one.

M. Stefanova, 5 January 2013

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