(no subject)
I wish I had a messy bag. One I could empty my thoughts into. I knew right where everything is, but everyone else would think it was dirty, it would be cluttered. They would ask to barrow a paper, I would tell them of course they could. They could hunt for hours, never finding what they needed. Returning to me, they would have a look of dismay, I wouldn’t help but laugh. Only I could find the things I lost; only I would know it wasn’t lost. I wouldn’t care if someone wanted to explore my bag, it would be hopeless for them to expose my thoughts. If THE bag was misplaced, if it became lost, I would be too. I would depend on a bag, and this, this is what I wished for.
The outside of the bag would be hideous, dirtier then the inside. It would reflect the times I had both excellent and dreadful. Stains of coffee and tea would create an image, it would bring up memories, and they would boil in my mind. The memories would bring up tears and laughter, irreplaceable smiles. Smiles giving to me by friends, I held them dearly. The outside would have words with hidden meanings. Inside jokes carved into each one, another memory. THE bag would be trash, to everyone but me. For me its life, and that, that is what I wished for.
The outside of the bag would be hideous, dirtier then the inside. It would reflect the times I had both excellent and dreadful. Stains of coffee and tea would create an image, it would bring up memories, and they would boil in my mind. The memories would bring up tears and laughter, irreplaceable smiles. Smiles giving to me by friends, I held them dearly. The outside would have words with hidden meanings. Inside jokes carved into each one, another memory. THE bag would be trash, to everyone but me. For me its life, and that, that is what I wished for.