She sent her trap in a manilla envelope bearing my name.

Handwriting tells stories all on its own. Packaged and ready to absorb my insides, outsides, and dreams. She wanted to carry far away, taking some of my days, but I had a couple tricks. I left that notebook sitting snug inside the envelope and started to cut and write, assembling.

Arranging all the little notes, scattered thoughts which I accumulate as my days go by. I thought to myself : With my memory so poor, when I write someone a letter and do not save a copy, they know more about that moment of my life than I do after a short time. I am sending these pieces away for safe keeping and can only hope they are careful and judicious while protecting my distributed recollection in parts. They have the details and my window on the world at that time. They have my mind if only for a moment.

What I hope is that she will let my soul out sometimes to wander. I would like in several years to visit parts of my mind that I no longer recall, remember who I was, once whens. They will be waiting. This could and will be good.

I trust.

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