Things We Left Behind -

Perhaps the most tangible manifestation of this concept is found in cardboard boxes. We are a migratory species, moving from house to house, city to city, chasing jobs, love, or simply a change of scenery. With every move, the culling happens.

There is the bookshelf you built with your father, too heavy and clumsy to fit in the moving van. There is the collection of ceramic figurines your grandmother collected, which you never truly liked but kept out of obligation, until the obligation became too heavy to carry. There is the art on the walls that defined your aesthetic in your twenties, which now feels foreign to the person you are in your forties. Things we Left behind

There is a distinct, heavy silence that follows the closing of a door. Whether it is the heavy oak door of a childhood home, the rusted metal door of an old car being towed away, or the metaphorical door that clicks shut when a relationship ends, the sensation is the same. It is the sound of finality. It is the soundtrack to the phenomenon we rarely discuss in polite company: the accumulation of things we left behind. Perhaps the most tangible manifestation of this concept