Tender Loving Stuff
Haul Out Blvd.
Dear Postcards, Cards and Letters,
You are the discarded costumes and props from the drama/soap opera/comedy that is my life’s story. You stood in for short stories never written and scripts never captured on video. You provide synopsis. But how long do I keep you? Until you’ve yellowed, been spilled on, or begin to disintegrate? How many times will I read you? Is any number enough to provide me with adequate memory of the moments you document?
I don’t know what I can do or say to help. I need to rid myself of you, and the excess of stuff.