Spring cleaning. It feels more final. And more like a cruel summer.The crystal horse in his tomb, the good-natured brown filly, the majestic plastic matriarch with sparkling mane and hidden keys that gave me hours of wide-eyed wonder each time I discovered a new gimmick. The lanyard octopi I told stories with, cities of clay animals, Tobias the falcon and gorgeous green-eyed Willow the swan, blue-eyed Selinah the duck with her tiny tiny daughter, why do I remember these names; long-forgotten cat figurines, a constant love, a Pontiac Firebird, tiny tiny tiny wooden mouse, bigger white felt mouse, the poor hornless swanicorn, the Golden Snitch from a fifth-grade birthday party; the bead animals coiled inside coiled pots, middle-school pride and joy, stories and cities through my thirteenth year even–

there are sagas and civilizations inside my walk-in closet, preteen eighth wonder of the world.

And then; anime convention fodder, cosplay scraps, fans and wraps and butterfly clips. Tiny treasures hidden lovingly, a mood ring inside a box of floss, an octopus lanyard inside a jewelry box, a quartz crystal inside of a plastic, metallic dark blue easter egg. Backpacks, one with Eiffel Towers and Arcs de Triomphe stamped all over it, the ‘travel bag’… Childhood.

In the box for Goodwill and the Salvation Army there is half a lifetime. Wide-eyed stuffed pony for Christmas, wicker basket home to many a stray plushie, Christmas dresses, raincoats, swimsuits, school uniform pants never worn, a Nightmare Before Christmas t-shirt that was a gift from a casual friend who didn’t know I’d never seen it; Chinese yo-yo. In the trash box, countless plastic beads, paper crafts, relics of a time when imagination was the norm and there weren’t limits on anything, no expectations when you were in your own mind.

Two full boxes and a large bag lugged down the stairs alone in the name of charity; outgrown in size and mind but perhaps not totally in spirit.

And seven years’ worth of dust making consciousness a living hell.