Past Lives

Every once in a while I find a box or some sort of container holding evidence of a former life. Was I ever that small? Was I ever that big? Did I sing that? Did I write that? Was I in Love with her? Was she in Love with me? I used to like those colors. Will this harmonica still work? Hmm, look as these pictures, we were limber.

I find projects that I have forgotten, but not given up on. I drag them through my life like Marley’s chains. I pack them away like memory landmines; I hear them rattle and clank.

Today I found a box of clothes. I’ve missed them. I promised them that I would visit them, and maybe one day wear them, but today was not the day. I wasn’t supposed to be looking in boxes anyway.