The Good Goodbye - early writing fragment

I wanted to take photos to make sense of it all, but this time I need words. To say goodbye to a house, but also to the museum of everything we kept to prove we were here. We collect things and when we're gone, where do they go? Who will read my diaries when I'm ash? Why keep them at all?

Maybe it's time tu burn it all. A big fire. the roses from my eighteenth birthday, still here, crisp and brown. Let them go up too. Smoke myself clean.