The thing that kills me (about moving) is the loss of my work. I have truly lost volumes of my writing along the way.
The way, being, the path from here all the way back to the countless transitions in my life. The restlessness of my timeline, notably in the past few years, has left me without some of my most fragile words.
I even once wrote a poem about losing my work and I have lost that too.
Herein, the moral of the story is print your work and make two copies if you care to. I don't know why it's so important to me but every time I lose my work, I am reminded of just how raw and personal writing can be. The same can be said for pictures.
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