Whenever I go into shops that sell antiques and olden sundry items,
I tend to gravitate towards the boxes of photographs and letters from years passed.
Often taken out of discarded albums and scrapbooks,
these mementos were once kept and shared intimately between families, friends, and lovers.
What are we to make of these forgotten keepsakes, proofs of existence, fragments of being?
It's sort of impossible not to wonder the fate of one's memories frozen in such images.
Will they, too, end up merely as curious objects in boxes?
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