The other day, as I rummaged through the foreign things in my cupboard, I found a folder. I opened the folder and found a case of blank CDs, a small pouch of coins, and an envelope brimming with letters from the past. As I examined each of my findings, I was unpleasantly surprised. As I tried to play each of the CDs, I found they were scratched and ruined, and would not run. As I inspected each of the coins, I found that they were merely those of past or foreign currencies and there for dubbed as useless. As I read over the letters, I found their words held little purpose or meaning and the feelings of joy I’d once felt by reading these very words were now replaced by indifference and impassivity. I soon realized that the folder itself had meaning, as it collected the very things that were broken and beyond repair, the things that were once meaningful and now useless, the things that once held emotion and were now looked upon callously – the relationships and feelings that could not be salvaged. The folder was the part of me that bound together everything that was once there, but no longer is. And as I replaced the folder and continued rummaging through my possessions, I realized I was doing the exact thing the “folder” within me had been longing for me to do – move on.
