Lately I’ve been trying to understand why I can’t seem to let go of things. Whether it’s the two necklaces I’ve worn every day for years; each from one of my grandmothers, or the broken mug in my studio for going on three years because I think one day I’ll be able to fix it. The objects hold the memory, but it is not a complete image. The fragments never amount to the real thing but at least they are something. I want to keep the bones. I want to remember even if it hurts. Maybe especially because it hurts and that hurt is tangible, it’s evidence of existence.
