i feel like if i begin writing about all the horrible ways i’ve collected people and stories, i will fall into a hole i’ve tried very hard to climb out of. but that’s part of who i am and while definitely worth investigating the reasons as to why you should probably never do that — now is not that time.

instead, i collect a lot of material things and i won’t lie, i find great comfort in my legos, video games, books, and every other physical form my desire to escape takes. they’re parts of experiences i’ve had, or demons i’ve fought. when those moments should no longer be remembered, i toss the item into a donation bin or recycle it. i guess… i guess that i love collecting things.