write about being tied to something -- 10 minute free-write

They started as 2. Two boxes of papers, journals, magazines, tchatchkes, keepsakes, each one a suitcase of memories packed into a box that made the move with me from Bremerton to Bellevue Ave, from Bellevue Ave to Harrison, from Harrison to 11th. Every time I packed my life into boxes a little of it stayed in a box so that after several moves, the 2 had become 5. Now there are 10, and each box holds a piece of me that is still tied to me. The cables disappear in the film of my life-- watching that movie, the boxes look like cardboard, but they follow me, of their on volition, mysteriously motorized. Keeping the boxes, I keep my life. I am tied, by the boxes to all the events, and people who have passed into the sunsets. The people are gone, the parties are over, the boxes remain. I keep them close, without them my past might drift away, my idea of myself, my sureness of my history might float aimlessly if the boxes didn't sit on top of them. Picking at the knots that hold the boxes tied firmly breaks my nails, bloodies my fingertips. But the pain makes it all the more important to finish. I've tried this hard, I've hurt this much I can't give up now. Does anyone have a pair of scissors? A book of matches?