Story: Homeless
Written July 27, 2010.
In a sense I have become homeless. I no longer have that space of my own, surrounded by my own things. Things where I want them to be. There's no feeling of everything being in its place.
Instead I lay on an old bed with blankets I recognize, but they are not mine. I'm surrounded by boxes of my stuff - waiting to find their place. There are old things stuffed into this room; a storage space for things my mother doesn't want to lose in the void that is our basement. Some things I recognize, others I don't. Some bring back distant memories...
My collections lay around this room forgotten and unloved by everyone except me. I think I was the only one to ever love my porcelain figurines. Others don't care, don't have any interest for them.
I remember souvenir flags, and how excited I was whenever I found one I didn't have.
I remember Beauty & the Beast blankets, pillow cases, framed plate, lamp and a wind chime that broke...
In a sense I have become homeless. I no longer have that space of my own, surrounded by my own things. Things where I want them to be. There's no feeling of everything being in its place.
Instead I lay on an old bed with blankets I recognize, but they are not mine. I'm surrounded by boxes of my stuff - waiting to find their place. There are old things stuffed into this room; a storage space for things my mother doesn't want to lose in the void that is our basement. Some things I recognize, others I don't. Some bring back distant memories...
My collections lay around this room forgotten and unloved by everyone except me. I think I was the only one to ever love my porcelain figurines. Others don't care, don't have any interest for them.
I remember souvenir flags, and how excited I was whenever I found one I didn't have.
I remember Beauty & the Beast blankets, pillow cases, framed plate, lamp and a wind chime that broke...