Years pass and seasons change, time the ultimate voyeur.

Stuff piles up, modern life’s accompanying junk.

Treasured memories gather, stacked into closets and drawers.

All of these things, all of that space.

They occupy whatever they can, providing fertile ground for dust.

In the end all is passing, simple material bound for decay.

Totaled a life they are not, only evidence of its existence.

By Nicholas Byrley

Moving soon and I’ve started the packing phase. Always amazing how much crap you can cram into a place.


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