The former tenant of our last house never set up a forwarding address. We got their bills, junk mail, personal letters, and packages from boutiques. We stacked everything in a corner, assuming we’d eventually hear from them.
Two years went by. Things kept arriving. Our lives were always too much in flux to contact the stores and try to track them down. We tried the landlord, who said they would reach out to them. We never heard back.
When we moved, I packed up their stuff along with ours, knowing it’d probably have to be donated.
I opened up a personal letter hoping to find a lead. It was my last ditch effort. The letter writer was asking for forgiveness and gently requesting to know where they had gone.
I had nothing for the letter writer, other than to say that the person in question did not live there anymore.