Things. One of these days, I was talking to a friend of mine and I found myself thinking about things. I mean, if on the one hand, things are just that, material goods, on the other, aren’t them something else?

Who never found themselves looking at things and being transported in time up to a moment? Things contain within themselves stories, fragments of moments and, often, another life that was present in a past time. It is as if, in a way, things kept a secret existence that only some are able to understand. And that I guess, far from being futile, is magical.

Thus, I always pick up things that belonged to my mother to lose myself, once again, in happy memories. To travel back in time, smell her perfume and watch her smile. To feel her closer, even though she is not here anymore. Yes, things are just things, but when we love them we give it a bit of our soul.

And so there is much of me in the things that I really love. And I’m not ashamed of that. They made me feel bad about valuing objects in the past, especially when I was younger. But today, I know that are so many out there who can not understand the magic that is to travel through time, through things. How lucky we are, the others.