Dear Backpack,

I just left you and I miss you.  I dropped you, empty, on the floor, surrounded by what was once inside you: clothes, shoes, plane tickets and restaurant receipts.  I hope you’re not lonely.

I hate to see you empty and deflated in the corner of my room, sometimes doubling as a laundry hamper.  I don’t think that was what you had in mind when I bought you.  When I went to the store three times before choosing you.  You, bright blue, calling to me from across the room.  I looked at a few other packs for show but I knew you were the one.

I think you’re the most yourself when you’re full.  When you’re on my back, in transit.  When I can pack each of your compartments with special items – toothbrush here, electronics in this pocket, passport here.

I think you like to hurt me, hurt my shoulders, pain my back, and even clip parts of my skin when I’m not careful.  But that’s okay, I’m a little rough with you too.  I know I stretch you too thin, pack you too tight, and throw you around as if you don’t matter.

But know that you matter.  Know that you’re keeping me together on long journeys and short, from Morocco to Bulgaria to Greece and our upcoming adventure in Asia.  I’m counting on you to be strong and hold on because I don’t know how I’ll make this trip without you.  You hold everything that matters to me and I can’t and won’t let you leave my side.  See you soon.

Love,

Casey