The Baggage We Carry

A life of things. Material and meaningless objects. I know that the contents are trivial but what am I without the case? What have I to show for myself and my life? A pack of cigarettes I stow, as I feel that I cannot live without them. The case is nearly empty now, holding only the most nonsensical, yet cherished item. I search for more. Next I enclose my wristwatch. I never cared for it’s shape or style, but at least it has monetary value. My case is now about half full, carrying the temporary fulfillment to my desire for both wealth and ecstacy. I search for more. Now I place my coat, my only source of warmth. I have no love, so instead I rely on its cozy interior. My case is almost at its capacity now, my replacement for true connection taking up most of the space. I only have room left for one more item. I must search for more. I find myself searching my home and my mind frantically. Searching for items I can be proud of. Items of true value. I can’t seem to find anything. I give up. Before I leave, I see visions of non-existent photos apparating through my mind. Photos or memories of family and friends I could take to remember my life. Photos I wish were reality. Instead I must pack all of these fatuous items in my case. For if I do not take them, I fear that my life will be just as meaningless as the baggage I carry with me.