Why did we live like that, with all that mean, incessant tallying?

Before Xmas one year my dad said we had to give some things away. I remember crying about a 4' panda who was off to Goodwill. I have so many memories of school, Vicki, and I'm so sad that I won't be able to keep all of them. To stay in Chicago only for that one moment when there's snow on the ground, and you realize it's winter. A flower in my freezer that I'm keeping now to remember the feeling of first wanting to keep it.

How I had to end things with G. with such a swift motion. It closed, in my mind, with a little click: I heard the sound of thread snapping against a PAM bind, which is the kind of binding we do to paperbacks in the lab. Two pieces of thin cardboard, really, and some string. In comparison D. has been one of those hulking old books, awkward to work on, with pages whose edges crisp off in your fingers when you try to turn them and a leather cover that leaves redbrown stains on your clothes if you accidentally lean against it. We're preserving these old books because they're important?