Places I once knew

The other day, I revisited my old neighbourhood. Just walking down that familiar street brought memories that had entirely faded from my brain, rushing back with clarity. I remembered small, impossible details like what my friend ordered that time we ate at the café downstairs, the happy conversation I had with the nearby florist, discussing the contents of paté with my Mother when she visited, shopping for a tiny christmas tree with my best friend, the nearby church I had visited when I was at my lowest… I could go on for days.

But instead of making me happy, these memories just made me sad. I spent the rest of the day mulling over why sadness was my first reaction, and I still haven’t quite figured it out.

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Flea Market Ephemera

I uncovered these three postcards at the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen in Paris last year, and just now remembered that I had them! They were hiding away in a nondescript white envelope under my bed in a box of memorabilia. (Is it just me who keeps boxes of random sentimental crap under the bed??)

I remember rifling through rows and rows of old postcards, and something about the design or handwritten letters on the back caught my eye. I think what really takes it up a notch is the presence of an actual stamp and a somewhat legible message. I can only read one of these, but isn’t vintage cursive handwriting beautiful? It makes me a little bit sad that cursive is on its way out of public school education. Imagine, in 500 years, people might not be able to decipher cursive at all!

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