On things.

What is it about things that make me want to cry?

Pictures don't do that. Words, maybe, sometimes, but not often.

But things... 

A hat block, shaped like a rocket, half eaten by woodworms. 
Four rusty screws, held together by a piece of twine.
A stick. And a feather.

A small, circular labyrinth, hanging on a nail, not quite centered.
A blue plate.

A sweater. Two blocks of wood, painted.
A typographers magnifying glass.
A stone.

Some of these things are mine. 
I bought them, inherited them or someone gave them to me.
Others are not.

But that doesn't matter.

They all do it.