So here I am tidying my room ready for my moving house.
So much... not crap... but things discarded. Small things... things from a life previous in a way.
I have a half dozen books I will bin. Not often so I do that. Destroy a book. But this time it has to be. The books represent a part of me, a previous iteration that died a while back. A good 2 years previous or more. it just goes to show what happens in that amount of time.
But then it is liberating, finally getting to shed that skin. Some small trinkets from it will remain. But those are the fresh buds. The ones to be planted down the line, free of the cesspit that they were originally born into.
Time to die. And stand again.
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