There Was a Life Here

I am forever picking things up.

A leaf on a walk. A scrap of paper from a café. A ticket stub. A particularly good postage stamp. A label from something I ate in France. A feather. A receipt.

Sometimes I know exactly why I want to keep something.

Often, I don't.

It just catches my attention, and before I've had time to make a reasonable decision about whether I need another tiny piece of paper in my life, I've slipped it into my pocket.