Note: Angst. About leaving the past in the past and not being so hard on yourself.
You were going through boxes of old childhood memories. You'd discovered your old action figures, old video games, and were now exploring the contents of a huge cardboard box filled with old books you used to read in elementary school. Kneeling down in a crouch position, you smile to yourself while rediscovering your childhood favorites: Andrew Clements, Peg Kehret, High School Musical, and who could forget Junie B. Jones.
"Wahh! Oh my gosh. These were my favorites!" You squeal to no one in particular while picking up a paperback and flipping through the pages. Although you're sad you can't store them in this dusty basement for another fifteen years, you're content in knowing that another little kid will enjoy your things just as much as you did.
You place the book back into the box and close it with duck tape. After marking the box as "Giveaways", you stand to your feet, hands on your waist, and look at the cement floor around you. Nothing but mountainous boxes fill the cool space. You sigh.
"What next?"
You lick your dry lips and spot a dark green plastic container with your name on it. You immediately grab it from the old metal shelf and set it on the ground with a 'huff'. You open the lid and your eyes are met with old notebooks, paintings, and random things from your primary school days. You dig through the pile, smiling to yourself.
"Whoa. I was one creative kid..." You enthuse. There are dozens of artwork pieces and plenty of sketches on every page of your notebooks. You managed to skim-read through your creative writing notebooks, impressed at your ten-year-old imagination. "Dang, I was talented," you state with a chuckle.
"Was? Last time I checked you still are." -- a deep, scruffy voice announced from the bottom of the stairway.
You stand quickly and squeeze the loose sides of your jeans. "Hey! What are you doing here?" You ask with that nervous smile that always seems to appear whenever he's around.
"I told you I'd help you pack," Yoongi simply states, walking towards you and your mess of boxes. His black bangs, which he tousled while approaching, covered his eyes; he wore a mask under his chin and gripped his phone in his left hand. By his unsophisticated attire, you could tell he just woke up and put the first item of clothing he saw on.
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"How's it going?" He asks, showing his top row of teeth.
"It's good." You nod and look around the room. "Is your mom here?"
He scratches the back of his head and nods towards the stairs. "She's upstairs helping your mom pack some things."
You nod again, and an awkward silence ensues. Yoongi chuckles and eyes you.
"So... what can I help with?"
"Oh! You can help me sort through my stuff -- I wanna put paintings in one pile, notebooks in the other, and figure out what to keep and what to throw away," you say.
