The Inheritor

Recently, I inherited some items from a friend moving. This isn’t the first time I’ve collected such items, but as I began to make space for them, I came across things from friends and moves past.

A packet of chai tea. Spare dishes. A bookshelf. Cleaning supplies. Free food (praise Him!). Little reminders that, when used, cause me to remember little moments with people. Those little moments become deep memories, that I recall with fondness. I remember that these moments, these memories, make me what I am today. Each item tells a story, linking me to a moment in time that can’t be repeated, but often relived. Though we may have been separated by distance or circumstance, the imprints left on the heart run deep.With the passing of time, I don’t treasure them any less.

I don’t like moving much. My need for stability fuels that. Something about packing and going, though the acts propel you into something new, seems so finite. I joke sometimes and say I’ll likely live in my current dwelling until an outside job or the prospect of marriage seduces me away. The more I joke, the more I realize it’s not a joke- I truly believe it. I often wonder who will inherit pieces of me whenever the time comes. Do I have to itemize a list with Excel and analyze what will go to whom, and write a long letter? Do I just put everything in my living room and let people have at it? Soon enough, I realize that it will likely happen organically, as much of these friendships have.

As much as my friends have become part of my story, I have to remember I am also a part of theirs. The items might be a tangible reminder of their presence in your life, but the true inheritance is the lifetime of friendship and memories shared, and those to come.

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