Once I get inside my place, I decide to sell the luxury stuff online. It's time to do it. I don't want to keep them any longer. Not when it brings some old memories I wish to forget.
It's been on my mind for a while, tucked behind every time I told myself I was still holding onto those things for memories. For pride. For if I ever needed to blend in again. But now I'm done.
I gather the pile—shirts with logos too sleek for the street, belts I haven't worn since the last gala, a gold-buckled watch that used to feel like armor. Scarves, shoes, coats with linings softer than my bedsheets. I photograph them against my plain floor, the dull light of my studio filtering through half-closed curtains.
