How do you pack eighteen years into the back of an SUV?
You probably don't: you have to leave some time behind, throw some things out, and hope certain things will still be there when you get back. If you get back.
So box and bag up your childhood, your knowledge, your relationships, or, well, some of it anyway, and decide what you're willing to risk losing, but at the same time, realize what it is that you can't possibly live without.
I'd leave pills behind in exchange for feelings, but can I take both feelings and happiness with me?
Even though part of me would gladly give up bedsheets to hold onto some old socks, it simply isn't practical.
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Poem and Prose Scraps (That Don't Quite Fit Elsewhere)
PoetryJust pieces that didn't quite fit in any of my other books that I don't feel are significant enough to require their own book. This will probably contain a lot of edgy stuff, so... brace yourself and enter at your own risk, I suppose.
