How anyone, when cleaning out closets that are chock full of memories past, can justly decide to toss or tether the notes that once skipped across rows of desks behind the teachers back. How to eliminate or illuminate the trigger to that one memory that floods in at first sight, but mostly just sits back and patiently waits in the filing room til the next spring cleaning frenzy.
Do I disregard the names that do not conjure up a countenance or, in the name of posterity, should I tuck them away for a later date when, by chance, that wrinkle in my brain decides to share it's secrets?
The recognition of a person's essence is immediate upon glancing at the handwriting on an envelope; the bittersweet scenes of times past are often too heartbreakingly sweet that I leave the cards in their covers.
Next time, maybe, when I have more to add and more to forget.
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