Ah, yes. Not long ago, my mom brought me a box from my old room. Journals, notes, files. Things I didn't take with me when I moved on my own, but which I didn't throw away when I cleaned. I went through it and threw some of it away, then cried and laughed and smiled and teared up through the rest. The memories that aren't on my phone, the handwritten notes, the words and images that shaped my life growing up in the 70s and 80s.