Mudanzas
Moving is a very messy affair.
Or at least it seems to be that way for me, just as I sit and contemplate the many boxes in front of me - jarring reminders of the life that was, the dreams of yesterday that never quite materialized.
Moving is messy because it's not just books and clothes I'm packing. It's bit and pieces of the person I thought to be, wanted to be, needed to be.
Moving hurts, because with each object I put away in a neatly labeled box, I am haunted by the memories of happier times.
Moving feels a little like dying.
Or at least it seems to be that way for me, just as I sit and contemplate the many boxes in front of me - jarring reminders of the life that was, the dreams of yesterday that never quite materialized.
Moving is messy because it's not just books and clothes I'm packing. It's bit and pieces of the person I thought to be, wanted to be, needed to be.
Moving hurts, because with each object I put away in a neatly labeled box, I am haunted by the memories of happier times.
Moving feels a little like dying.