I’m standing still in the middle of my messy room, all my stuff is out on the floor, the bed and everywhere else. There’s clothes I don’t wear, shoes that don’t fit, socks missing a pair, bags that are worn off, sheets that are ripped from edges and wires, so many wires for what I’ve no clue.
I finally lift my head up after what seemed to be just a minute of numbness, it’s been three hours, is it?
I haven’t packed, my shelf is dusted and clean but, the rest, why do I have so many of things that I don’t use or need? How come I wasn’t aware of all that occupy my life, my space, where do I pack these? Why do I pack these?
I know I’m wasting time I don’t have, any minute I’ll hear them calling for me to leave for good, how does one leave home? I don’t care if it’s bigger and better or smaller and cleaner, it’s no good if it won’t carry any memories of the life I’ve built, no stains of my past, no dirt from my existence, why move to an empty white from this beautiful colorful mess.
Do I even make sense? I don’t even know where to start from, the stationary that can be replaced or the collectibles that my mother calls trash. Can I end myself in this moment and dug up a grave for my soul in this place right here? Let my body wander off to wherever it’s destined and I stay safe in my cocoon that holds all of me in every ounce of its space. With that thought , I shut my eyes again, this time, letting it consume all of me, bits and pieces, and then they call and it’s finally time to leave, I hear them and stay, for as long as I’ve got, gathering my memories and locking their faces in mind, tears and pain, numbness and relief.
Then they say again, ‘it’s time for her burial’.