I’ve packed a box of memories, picture post cards, and love letters sent from wounds I severed long ago. Still, I keep them neatly tucked below my bed as I dream of past and future events. Anything but present tense. I’ve made more plans than memories, left a trail of casualties. I worry I’ll waste my whole life planning to die. It’s clear that I’ve wasted this time preoccupied. Now this box of memories serve as reminders. Remains from my repeated offenses. Stolen affection from the unsuspecting. I’ve played the victim and assumed the worst, manipulate and except the undeserved. I’ve made more plans than memories and left a trail of casualties. I worry I’ll waste my whole life planning to die. It’s clear that I’ve wasted this time preoccupied.