Box

In my closet, there's a cardboard box.

It's been with me for a small lifetime, moving from closet to basement to garage, riding in the trunk of my car, ending up in yet another closet. I hadn't opened it in many years.

Yesterday, determined to usher in a new age of organization, I opened the dusty box and spread the contents on the rug.

The box was full of letters — love letters, hate letters, valentines from my mother. Thank-yous from my sister, just-because notes from friends, birthday cards from old boyfriends.

I hadn't intended to sort through them as I discarded them, but despite that resolution my hands began to open each envelope. One by one I remembered old friends as the letters made their way back to the box.

I threw out the box with last night's trash. It was empty. All the letters, now neatly bundled, are resting in my bottom drawer.

Sometimes a lifetime is too much to throw away.