Saturday, 11 August 2012
the august light is dimming earlier these days and the mirror on the floor reflects the window back at itself. i feel a slight sense of panic that all the books are in boxes taped and labelled. im wondering if they can breathe. i picture the shape of their names down their spines; a hundred stories of transitions, not ends. there are still poems in the creases in my bed sheets that im holding off washing until i leave. when it comes to goodbye, i will kiss these walls that stood and stand like silent witnesses having seen me shine and break and render this room small enough to carry, along with all the others that somehow fit together in this ramshackle wondrous home that is me.
Posted by cloudgathererholdmedown