A few weeks ago, I cleaned out my bedroom at my parents’ house. I had moved out almost five years ago and had taken many things with me; what had remained were things from another time, another life… stacks of paper, notebooks, scribbles. Writing. Ideas for stories. Half-written, paragraphs, pages. Some were decades old. And I knew I had to get rid of all of it. Because maybe in order for new things to have space to grow and breathe, you have to discard some of the old stuff. So Teapot’s dad and I loaded up the car with two full boxes of old words and drove them home to be shredded. I dumped one box into the recycling bin the other day. The other, soon.

I hope this is the beginning. I want to be able to tell Teapot that I went after my dreams and that she can, too. I don’t want to be a liar. I hope it will be true, one day.


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