So much depends upon one small tangible piece of nostalgia. You can pin an entire period of time on one piece of paper, or just one mix CD or an old notebook. These objects are sacred not because of what they are and what they’re made of, but because of what they represent. And it’s these things that have too much sentimental value to let go. I don’t want to let go. I drag them with me everywhere I go because they’re all I have to remind me of what was the past. Memories fizzle and fade and distort but that one object – that tangible thing you can hold in your hand and read or listen to or touch or smell… that object feels immortal.


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