Attic Attack

The dust of ages lies spread about over diaries of another life, muddled exercise books and dog-eared photo albums. I feel a chill from the storm brewing up outside as I unpack memories while re-boxing keep-sakes. This place is loftier than my present mind, which stays at ground-level; content to create non-physical reminders of relative prosperity. I put away the tired broom and put on my coat.

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