In my cupboards, boxes and notebooks hold items of little meaning to others. A bus ticket, a crushed flower, a ribbon. Each prompts recall of a moment resulting in a smile, a tear or a frown. A first love, a special dance, a trip abroad. When I fling them on to the skip, my past will be gone and the only memories that matter will be those that my loved ones hold inside.


I am tidying up by study and these few words came to my mind.

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