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Things were meant to last. Many of my things will outlive me, by a long shot. I use my grandfather’s stock pot. I don’t know where he got it from, but lord knows it’s older than me. It may even be older than my mom, now old enough herself to be a grandmother (although I’m not sure she’ll ever be). It would need melting in a furnace to be destroyed. All I need to do is fall down wrong.
I have a book from the 1800s in my apartment that I took from a dumpster as a teenager. An old professor died, and with no one to clean out the apartment, a lifetime of books were left on the street. All that was once precious, all that was once considered, all that was bought with the intention to keep. No one kept it, and all of it was precious. I wanted to take it all back to my tiny bedroom, rescue the abandoned that was full of a stranger’s love. I could feel the collection wanting a home that I could not provide. I pass stoops with packages on my walk, familiar boxes eerily smiling at me. Where will all the Temu gadgets go?
Objects have been disconnected from memory, lacking context, lacking love. What is attached to the Target throw blanket? Whose sorrow was woven into the fabric? What animal’s home destroyed to fuel the spooling of thread? Will the plastic bag this came in be mistaken for a jellyfish by some shark in the Pacific and end up on display at the aquarium?
I have a book from the 1800s in my apartment that I took from a dumpster as a teenager. An old professor died, and with no one to clean out the apartment, a lifetime of books were left on the street. All that was once precious, all that was once considered, all that was bought with the intention to keep. No one kept it, and all of it was precious. I wanted to take it all back to my tiny bedroom, rescue the abandoned that was full of a stranger’s love. I could feel the collection wanting a home that I could not provide. I pass stoops with packages on my walk, familiar boxes eerily smiling at me. Where will all the Temu gadgets go?
Objects have been disconnected from memory, lacking context, lacking love. What is attached to the Target throw blanket? Whose sorrow was woven into the fabric? What animal’s home destroyed to fuel the spooling of thread? Will the plastic bag this came in be mistaken for a jellyfish by some shark in the Pacific and end up on display at the aquarium?
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