I hate packing. I hate leaving. I hate getting used to something and then leaving. I hate the thought of doing something I’ve been doing regularly for the last time. I hate that one last shower, or that one last time walking in through that gate, or that one last dinner at their house, or the one last afternoon of cards and coffee, or that one last time turning out the light.
I’m a sucker for nostalgia. I’m a pack rat for this reason. I don’t want to say goodbye forever. So I keep a receipt, a photo, a ticket, a napkin, a piece of a pizza box to remember- remember that moment, remember that feeling, remember you.
But the thing is, no receipt or photo or ticket or napkin or piece of a pizza box can bring that moment back in full. It happened and it was beautiful or funny or random or awkward or absolutely fantastic. And the thought may bring a smile to my face or a well of tears to my eyes, but if I hold on too long to that thought I may miss something as beautiful or funny or random or awkward or absolutely fantastic in the moment I’m hung up on my thoughts of the past.
And so I move along… This moment. This moment is what’s real, what’s happening, and it’s beautiful. And tonight I pack to Castledoor:
Think it over
Think it through
Then you’ve got to let it go
Think it over
Okay time’s up, go
You’ve got to let it go
