#93

She wrapped glass lemons in wool socks.

She stuffed old photos in the pages of books that she had already read.

She filled suitcases with shoes and shoeboxes with silverware.

She smiled at the wonderful things friends had gifted her over the years—a plastic crow, a ceramic skull, a woven meditation rug, a terracotta bowl for olive pits.

She felt the weight of everything she owned.

She packed it in boxes and was left only with love.

When it was finished, she walked along the park. The sun had gone down but there was still plenty of life being lived. Couples grunted at each other under the buggy spotlights of the tennis courts. A mariachi band played while several people held hands and made circles around a tree. Smoke from a barbecue wafted in between lawn chairs and reggaeton beats. The action was overwhelming and it washed over her.

With tears blurring her vision, the street lamps became boats coming and going in a harbor. Coming or going, she wondered, which am I? Which will I be?