Travel light, but take everything with you. Pack your life into a suitcase. Compress a room of memories, dreams, nightmares, hopes, pain and happiness, take the few essentials and clear out.

That's what this feels like. I have to choose which of my memories are the most important to me. Pack them away into a suitcase and walk right out that door, never again to see the ones I left behind.

Clothes. A necessity. As many as possible-- I might not have the money to get more for a while.

Toiletries. Also a given.

Books? Well, with three shelves filled, it's hard to choose which ones I need, but I know I need some of them. The few that are dearest to me are coming with me. They might complain of frivolity, but who are they to know that these books keep me warmest on the nights when I feel so frigid?

Notebooks. Two small empty ones, but also a few odd assorted ones with various stories in them. I might expand on them, but I need these to remember that I can still create, even when my life seems to be nothing but destruction.

Photos, cards, letters, any that'll fit into one or two folders. Most of the others are on my laptop, hopefully. If not, I'm leaving them anyways. Maybe I can come back and gather the others. I want to keep that hope alive.

I survey the room. It's still filled. There's only the one bulging duffel bag in my hand and the backpack on my back. I look at the stuffed animals, the guitar without a case, the things that are left behind. Do they really mean less to me than what I've got? Are they really less important?

Then again, is what I'm leaving less important to me than where I'm going to?

Travel light but take everything. How in the hell am I supposed to know what that is?