I’m the pack of text that sat on a marble mantelpiece under dazzling chandeliers as glasses tinkled and lithe limbs pirouetted across polished floors.

I’m the facing slip that post officer O.S. Woody held in panicky, perspiring hands, his mind racing and his heart pounding, as the Titanic dropped deeper into the deep blue sea. I’m one of the few things found dry in his drenched trench coat, and one of the few things his family had to hold onto as his body descended into the earthy earth.

I’m the discreet document that witnessed Mrs. Woody’s tumultuous affair, and later sat in a neat pile while the auctioneer brought down his hammer with fervent force.

I’ve sailed the seven seas, experienced subzero temperatures and lived to tell the tale. 

 

What have you done lately?


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