it was the morning that i had been dreading. moving day had come and i was not prepared. essentially, i still had not packed-up my belongings. I had bought enough boxes for most of my "things" to fit into and rolls of tape to seal them up with. brown boxes. all them the same color and shape, i could not distinguish between them. i had forgotten the marker. couldn't i just meld them all together and place my entire apartment into it? rummaging through desk drawers and boxes full of old momentos and odd trinkets, i fell upon memories. good and bad. soft and hard. delicate and rough. glistening and opaque. how could i ever rid myself of these things? these objects that somehow continued to haunt me, reminding me of a distant past, when time stood still and i stood still in amazement at how time had passed and had not stood still at all, but instead passed by in a flash. people had passed, relationships had passed. . . love had passed. jetting out of a mound of clutter in the corner of the closet, a feeling sprung out from amongst chaotic emptiness, meaningless clutter, dusty clutter. grasping for this object that stood out like a beacon. . . in one sense warning me not to come any closer, and in another sense, waving me in for discovery. going through that object and remembering what it had meant at the time and knowing that it no longer existed in the present, but in the past, i placed it back into the closest, but this time not standing out, camouflaging itself in my pile of "things". i spent the rest of that afternoon sipping tea and reading dated magazines, picking out which bird feeder would suit me best if i was an aves. night soon befell and i left that apartment without a box, bag, hanger, or suitcase. gazing at what i had found in the pile in the corner of my closet, i came to realize that all i needed to move-on was already well packed away, deeply packed away, in my heart.