hoarding
it is certainly within my nature to store things, to hold onto shit that no one else can find a reason for. many of these things are placed in little compartments and left until such a day that i need them, sometimes i do, other times they collect dust and cobwebs until i am forced to once again come face to face with these spectral remnants of my past.
i hate throwing things away, hate being without anything, regardless of how simple and inane it may be.
i love collecting stories.
the tales of other people and their tribulations and trials feed me in a way that physical sustenance never has. i love hearing the things that people have hidden away and locked off from the world, if only because it makes me feel less alone.
Theres a hall i keep these things in. little metaphysical incarnations that stir up memories and images of stories i've been told. the shelves are lined with trinkets and seemingly foolish little things, pieces of stone and seashells and broken chunks of mechanical things. this is my "trophy" room. my blinding white and gold library.
if i have a story from you,
thanks.
i hate throwing things away, hate being without anything, regardless of how simple and inane it may be.
i love collecting stories.
the tales of other people and their tribulations and trials feed me in a way that physical sustenance never has. i love hearing the things that people have hidden away and locked off from the world, if only because it makes me feel less alone.
Theres a hall i keep these things in. little metaphysical incarnations that stir up memories and images of stories i've been told. the shelves are lined with trinkets and seemingly foolish little things, pieces of stone and seashells and broken chunks of mechanical things. this is my "trophy" room. my blinding white and gold library.
if i have a story from you,
thanks.