Wednesday, 31 August 2011

the samsonite (the curse and the closure)

It is my duty and responsibility to myself that had advised me and somehow forced me to never contact you anymore.

As I neatly placed and stored all my worldly belongings in the borrowed drawer in the borrowed closet, I could feel your ugliness melting away.

This borrowed carpet might not be clean since I could see dust bunnies in the corners and the edges of this borrowed room, but as I was being a lotus in the middle of this chamber, I could swear I felt my memories being vacuumed and scrubbed and pampered, all in the process of forgetting you.

Then the fact of our relationship (or whatever we called it) woke me up from my daydream, as pungent as the smelling salt, as bitter as the icy water, all to awaken the drifters; and once more, I placed you on my pedestal. Probably not as number one, or two, or ten, but you were there.

It has been a week, and you are still there; slipping down steadily, but still there.

When I perish, and if the suitcase continues to serve its purpose, let it be a reminder of the ugliness of wound that it has inflicted upon me and upon those who purposely strayed.

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