Decluttering holds a melancholy reminder of our finite lifespans and stockpile of attention. There are so many things that would be, perhaps, worth coming back to: a book unread, a video unwatched, a toy unplayed with, a tchotchkes unadmired. But there's just enough time, and we are compelled to choose, and to clear out things that don't make the cut lest they interfere with the things that do, or with life in general.
(Oh, and in my virtual mortal coil: the bookmarks unfollowed.)
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