i think that for a lot of people, looking through old pictures brings back memories of their old friends, old lives, old schools, etc. all i can see when i look through my old pictures are my old clothes.
i have a lot of clothes and i love every single item, even (and in some cases especially) the clothes i rarely wear. i almost hate to say it, but when we had the fire and we had no idea what had happened to the contents of our home, one of my first and recurring concerns was how are my clothes.
when i have to move, i spend hours putting all my clothes in separate piles. careful deliberation and consideration goes into every decision, but by the end of it i’m usually so exhausted and annoyed that i just throw half the stuff into one bag, label it “amity” and take it to the donation bin. i don’t even know what’s in it, and i have to force myself not to tear it open and go through it one more time.
years later, in all my old pictures, i see those wide-legged pants i spent so many afternoons tripping over or the self-studded, checkered jacket that i fell in immediate second-hand-store love with. i don’t see my friends in the picture, or my hairstyle, or in a lot of cases even what we were doing. i want to go back to the jacket, or the sweatshirt with the comfiest hood, or the perfect-length skirt. i don’t want to be back in high school, i want to be back in those blue 8-hole docs.
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