What the hell happened to my key chain?

I remember leaving leaving San Francisco in October and noticing my key chain; I had just returned the 7 keys it took to get into my ex’s apartment and all I had on my ring was a car key and two keys for my storage locker. It felt indicative of where I was in my life–lone and transient.

But nowadays? My key chain is full: house key to my lovely burner household, two for work, one to the apartment of a super cute boy, one for my dad/sister’s house, a gifted rocket keychain, a Fred Meyer club card paired with my mom’s account, no storage key but one to the club for my car reminiscent of it being stolen, and of course–my car, ever the constant. Every time I fumble through them I am consciously thankful for friends, family, love, and work. How are keys such an indication of life?

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