Part of her wishes that this house would stay empty forever. That it would never fill up with the baggage of her past or the clutter of her present, that the future would always be this blank, expansive, and open. That when the time comes to leave (the time always comes to leave), she can just disappear, with no trace and nothing to pack. But she has no choice. Taking out the boxcutter, she rips open the brown packing tape and takes her life out, piece by piece, memory by memory, hoping that there will be room here for everything.