Snow * StuffIt was astonishing, the sheer number of things that accumulated in two years of life together. It depressed Susan to think of her relationship in terms of things, but at the end of the day, she had Paul had broken up, and there was still this pile of his junk in the middle of her living room.
She bounced on her toes. She didn't want any of this.
At least all these things were trivial. And old t-shirt, a VHS bought for a dollar from the local library. The mouthpiece to a trumpet. Nothing he would want back, so she didn't have to orchestrate a return.
Two years of Susan's life were stacked carelessly, depressing and unwanted. Trinkets, nonsense, garbage. Little physical manifestations of memory that didn't mean anything good to anyone, anymore.
That was the real sadness of it all, Susan supposed: being obsolete. Being useless, unwanted, unloved.
Going from useful, precious things to mere stuff.
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