The hardest part of owning a collection isn’t the dusting or the space it takes — it’s the moment you have to let something go. Every item I’ve kept has a memory attached to it, a little piece of joy or comfort I held onto during different moments of my life. Letting them go isn’t simple. It feels like saying goodbye to a part of myself. Sometimes you sell things because you have no choice — to keep the lights on, to pay for food, to save something bigger than the objects themselves. Other times, you sell because life pushes you into a corner you never wanted to stand in. But no matter the reason, it hurts. Especially when the person buying it is a stranger who doesn’t know the story behind it, or the effort it took to find it, or the happiness it once brought. I’ve always wished that if I had to part with something, it would go to someone who truly understands — someone who sees the value beyond the price tag, someone who cares. Because these aren’t just things. They’re memories. They’re pieces of love, effort, and time. Through this story, I want to share that feeling — the quiet ache of letting go, the hope that what we cherished finds a good home, and the reminder that sometimes the hardest goodbyes are the ones no one else sees.