I can't breathe the air in here. Everything is unmistakably stale.
It stinks of her.
The past her, not the present. The present her is long gone from my life, but I come back to my room and I can smell the coat she left on the end of the bed. I haven't moved it because I'm afraid. I can smell her perfume in the bathroom, if I want. I can even go smell her cooking, if it hasn't gone bad yet. I left it in a tupperware, really, so anything is possible.
I'm afraid of touching anything, for fear that I'll remember.
I'm moving away next week. I'm leaving everything I own. Everything of her, and us. I'm letting it rot here.
And then? I'm ripping off my nose.
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Dance in the Full Moon
O, the Frailty of Memory
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This hurts.
ReplyDeleteI think it was meant to.
ReplyDeleteBut seriously--sometimes I get so angry that I don't throw memories out.
It is well done, you know.
ReplyDeleteTo be honest, sometimes I also wish you would, dear. Sometimes I also get angry that you don't. But at the same time, you keep things and you don't let them lose their value to you, and that's admirable, too.
I don't want you to prolong your suffering, but I appreciate that you allow things that hurt you to continue to have their value. Senseless, I suppose.
But there are more than two options, and keeping a scar doesn't mean that you can't let it heal.
How can something be a scar unless it's been healed? Don't scars come from the fact that something has healed? I mean, I guess sometimes the wound has closed but it's still broken underneath, but...I think you'd both know what I mean.
ReplyDeleteNot every wound causes a scar. Sometimes you have to keep it from healing for a while.
ReplyDeleteWHATEVER
ReplyDeleteI'm slowly figuring out that I need to cauterize my wounds. I think. I'll get back to you on that.
But cauterizing requires burning, and it is pretty much only necessary if there is no good hospital nearby. Maybe go to a hospital instead of burning everything.
ReplyDelete