If I die and someone is around to care,
Please take my little things:
A moon-shaped incense burner that I made from clay, a wooden goose from a flea market, a miniature perfume that I smell occasionally and use even less occasionally.
Take one or two, or as many as you like, and store them in your coat pocket,
fiddle memories into them like I have done, or put them on a shelf and let the dust collect just like all the old ladies did before us.
Forget about them and one day find them again with a rush,
just like that feeling you get when you’re on a walk and the warmth of a sunbeam finds your face perfectly,
and you realise how tangible it is to exist.