Call me nostalgic, but the burning of anything makes me incredibly sad. Books, letters, photos… To me, those things carry memories and memories are what help us as a society move forward. Burning isn’t necessarily society moving backwards, it feels like more of a stalemate. You can’t go anywhere and you’re just stuck.

Sure, it might seem cleansing and on some level, maybe it actually is a nice feeling to really have nothing else but yourself. I don’t think I could live like that though.