- 2:12 pm - Sat, Sep 22, 2012
- 25 notes
An interesting essay about losing one’s possessions:
The boxes were soggy at the bottom; the concrete floors were still damp. I wanted to cry right then, but I waited until I was alone in my new 15×6 foot room on Carroll Street. I unpacked the boxes and started to assess the damage.
Most of my pictures were destroyed. This was before I’d transitioned into the world of digital cameras, and these were the only copies I had. The flood had wiped clean photos of my childhood dog, the leafy Michigan summer camp where I’d been a counselor, the only photograph I still had of me with my high school boyfriend, college road trips to San Francisco and Joshua Tree.