Found at the brocante:
A 1930s scrapbook, fifty pages worth plus corresponding letters. Ticket stubs from the famous sites, menus, photos, postcards from the Arch, Pigalle, Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame… memories collected, glued on pages, notes to recall the date and place, then after the days turn into weeks and weeks bloom into years the season of winter the scrapbooks are left aside. An entire collection, a boxful of scrapbooks from all over the world: Japan, England, Africa, Thailand, Spain… someone's attic cleared out, someone's family forgotten, the brocante is a collection of life memories given away as so many things are. It is sad in away to see.
I bought the scrapbook about Paris.
And one day hopefully far from this moment our things will be set aside at some brocante. Like seeds things will scatter right, left, far wide, maybe kept.
A guardian I am, and hopefully someone will be.
History shared.
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