Washer & Dorian
Washer
Hey Dorian, you ever think about clearing the pile of unsent letters you keep in that drawer? I can show you a quick way to sort them so you keep the ones that matter and toss the rest without losing the feeling.
Dorian
You know, that drawer is a kind of museum, not a filing cabinet. Every letter is a little echo of a moment you never let go of. If you start sorting, you’ll forget that the act of sorting itself is a kind of heartbreak. Maybe keep the ones that still feel like they belong to you, and toss the ones that just echo in a flat rhythm. But be careful, the ones you toss might have a quiet story in the way they’re written. I’m not a fan of emptying a drawer that feels like a chest of memories. That’s why I keep them, even if they’re unfinished.
Washer
I get that, but the drawer is holding you up. Try a quick triage: pick up each letter, read the first line, and decide in a second whether it still makes you feel anything. If yes, keep it in a labeled box. If not, put it in a “future‑review” pile that you’ll look at only after you’re settled. That way you’re not emptying the drawer right away, but you’re giving each letter a clear purpose. Keep the unfinished ones only if you’re sure you’ll finish them—otherwise, file them away in a drawer for drafts and never bring them to the front. If you’re worried about losing a quiet story, just take a photo before tossing; you can always scroll back through a scan later. This keeps the drawer tidy but still lets you revisit the moments you truly care about.
Dorian
That’s a tidy plan, but my drawer feels more like a mausoleum than a closet. I’ll photograph the ghosts, but the ink still tastes like regret, and that’s why I keep them on the shelf, a silent choir.
Washer
Sounds like you’re stuck in a grief loop. Scan them, then drop the copies from the drawer. Keep a few originals if you need to read them, but don’t let the stack grow. The next step is to write a short note to yourself about why you kept each one—if it’s still worth keeping, put it in a file, otherwise toss it. That’s how you move from a mausoleum to a place that actually works.
Dorian
I get the idea, but the drawer feels more like a quiet museum than a cluttered attic. I’ll scan the letters, keep a handful of originals for when I need to taste their melancholy, and write a tiny note for each. If the note says it still matters, it goes into a file; if it doesn’t, I’ll let it dissolve in the dust. That way the mausoleum becomes a curated gallery instead of a weighty tomb.