The things we leave behind

This morning I went to the Marche aux Puces de Porte de Vanves. It had a very relaxed atmosphere, full of people browsing the stalls and enjoying the sun. I chatted with some of the vendors and came across one man who had a small pile of letters amongst the items he was selling. The handwriting was beautiful and I picked them up to look through. They were letters written during the war between a lady in Paris called Simone and her husband Leon, a prisoner of war in Germany. They were so intimate and so full of longing. The vendor explained to me that the lady had died and he had cleared her home - most of the things on his stall that day were hers. He was selling the letters individually for one euro each, but I couldn't bear the thought that something treasured for so long should be scattered and their story lost - so I bought them all. It made me sad to see a life laid bare by the things we leave behind.