I think I have reached that certain age when the past seems so much better than the future. It was and it is. I spend great amounts of time looking at slides, photos, letters and unfinished poetry. Lots of that. Hours pass and I am sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by the history of my life. I begin to discard, my hand hesitates over the garbage bag….just one more glance. Despite my determination I am weak. Someone will have to clean up my life it should be me
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