Ever since I was a child, I’ve been an overly sentimental person. In my parents’ house, in the bedroom that still looks exactly how it did when I left home five years ago, in a cardboard box on the shelf inside my wardrobe, all of my past lives are stored. Every card, letter or note I received from preschool until I moved interstate is immaculately kept, a telescope peering into the way things were.
Daily Life