He burns his belongings.
It’s hard to imagine what has happened for a man to think there are no options left other than to take a box of his stuff – a box of cherished memories, I think, although we’re never formally told – and shove it into a bonfire. It’s harder still to imagine how it must feel to keep doing it, over and over and over again. Does it get easier, do you think? After the second time – the tenth time, the fiftieth time, the hundredth time – does it stop hurting? Do you stop feeling it? Or does every box stuffed into the flames make your heart ache just that little bit more?
