I am looking for a memory in a stack of cardboard boxes left in the attic from last time we packed and unpacked our lives, resetting roots here in the rich soil of life. In a stack of cardboard boxes I find old dust and mothballs and wonder what makes loneliness carry the scent of abandonment. Left in the attic from last time we again committed to forever, our love is a box left empty except small nails and a penny. We packed and unpacked so many times it became routine; "Set this here or over there. Leave that big carton for later." Our lives, resetting roots began to take on the air of a permanent transplant, never sure of growth and gain. Here in the rich soil of life, found in the corners of forgotten packing crates we find these memories. If we carefully nurture and trim, I hope love blooms again.
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