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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 146

My room lives in a constant state of clutter. I can recite where everything came from like the back of my palm. My various bedrooms I've had over the years have evolved with me. Changing the orientation of my bed, changing my lamps, but what never changes is the clutter around it. I take it all with me in bags from house to house, never sure what use I may have for it. I am down to the last of my clutter, much scarcer and scattered, ending up in different bins or trunks to be locked away forever. My trinkets serve as memories of a long forgotten time, and as a reminder of what I must someday leave behind.

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