Untitled Folder

It’s been almost three years since I moved into this apartment. At first there were feelings—this is good, that isn’t—but those feelings are fading now. New habits and sensations all turn ordinary, and settle in.

When I moved, I bought a white box for things I couldn’t decide whether to keep or throw away. Some of them are still there, undecided, unable to be discarded.

What I keep close now isn’t something meaningful, but something like an unnamed folder sitting in the corner of the screen. It would work fine without it, but it holds what I can’t send to trash, what I need to keep. New data keeps going into the unnamed folder, day after day.

Among the works I make on instinct, and the ideas that come to me, the ones I still want to leave undecided keep piling up inside the folder.