Do you ever crack open the door into a room of memories that you haven’t allowed yourself to look at in a long time and somehow you’re surprised that everything inside is untouched and unchanged, albeit with a filter of dust? Do you think about the bedrooms of children who’ve died unexpectedly, and the parents close the rooms up and leave them empty like monuments or abandoned archeological sites? And it isn’t until years later, maybe when they are getting ready to move, that they go in and really touch everything in the room again, lift it all up and put it away, and they keep saying, oh. Oh, this.
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