So much of my life lives on paper.
In letters, in cards, on glossy, on matte.
Inside once locked hardcover journals, there are words scratched in anger, in pain, and occasionally, in ecstasy.
Inside carefully categorized photo albums, there are faces I used to recognize, love, envy.
Most of it — my life on paper — reflects only what was once the drama of my life. For this is what we photograph. Parties, graduations, weddings. And this is what we journal. Love, loss, confusion.
Drama. It’s indeed the drama that compels us to document, to reflect.
But, as I’ve discovered through digging in my cardboard boxes, there is another side to my life lived on paper.
Surrounded by doodles in spiral bound notebooks is the every day life I lived once, in between the drama. Errands I had to run. People I agreed to meet. Tasks I…
View original post 474 more words