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I had saved all the corks from all the champagne bottles we had shared.
All of them.
During the past years they had accumulated with changing intensity in a crystal bowl on my kitchen table.
During the years I moved and the bowl followed.. Along with it’s contents it’s memories, of conquests and deep talks, of casualty and depth, of opulence and decadence and utterly simple lust.
Now time had arrived to move yet again.
One of the last things I packed yesterday was the crystal bowl.
I wrapped it carefully, in silk paper and tissue and newspapers, deep in thought, contemplating my move and my destiny. And that of my small collection of memories.
The champagne corks I filled into a plastic bag and placed it on the window sill.
This morning, together with the bright summer morning sun, the little bag greeted me, on this the morrow of my move.
Getting ready, greeting the movers and finally turning the key for the very last time, I smiled, having - without a doubt in my mind - left the little plastic bag behind, sitting on the sill to greet the new owner.