Was it the crate of saved wrapping paper, carefully archived by colour? Or the sheath of car tax discs, dating back to my first vehicle...? No, it was the sweet little pillbox, shiny in its innocence, that revealed the greatest horror: every tooth I have ever lost.
But as time went on, there were signs that the collecting was not entirely benign. While others seemed to be able to declutter on a semi-regular basis, the idea of getting rid of things made me tense and unhappy.
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