Packing a Life --Memories in a Bedroom

The faint hint of perfume that remains on that shirt.  The words on the pages of those letters; kept but forgotten. The smell of summer barbecues on that top. The sound of the jazz band that played during dinner that lingers on that dress. Those two photos in frames forgotten in the bottom of that drawer. The carefree day that calls from that pair of capris and flip-flops.  The "haven't slept in two days and  desperately need to let this out" thought vomit from three in the morning. The laughter emanating from that black feather boa. The small trace of cologne that still sticks to that hoodie I kept. The tears that still stain that sweater; the way fall looked on the Central Park leaves in that one. The blister from those heels worn dancing the night away. 

It's a strange thing sorting through and packing up five years of your life. Pieces to keep, pieces to discard, and pieces to donate to someone else for new memories to be made.