giving up
memories for sale. three for a dollar. All the remnants and residues, treasured artifacts of a love slipping away, yet breathing, standing before me with her hair parted softly. A mere few feet are uncrossable galaxies. With every breath i expect you to exhale syllables of repentance, of teary eyed union. But you have become a soldier marching to a willing death with steely eyed determination.
Dividing up dvd's and knickknacks from vegas and the stuffed animals from six flags (remember, you wore the red shirt from our first date?) and all the christmas stuff (the way your eyes shone all cosy in our holiday contentedness, more concerned with being close to you and following your traditions), the Halloween stuff (which was up year round in the cosy purple bedroom that was my sanctuary, where we drank so much of our secrets, jack o'lantern grins that belied our true grim smiles), the knick knacks from our first dating ( monkey slippers and dog eared polaroids) the camping stuff (your breath so humid vaporous in the frosted rusty blades of autumn leaves, an annual occurence full of campsmoke and grime and mock savagery and clean lungs)
There's a walled of part of you that chooses what to bring as you venture bravely into your diverging new life, weighing ooptions, how to decorate. I see no pain in it, careful judicious deliberation.
But the decision is not hard for me. I need nothing for an unloved spartan life. I've already lost everything that mattered to me over the last five years, so i guess i'll keep the tools of my music (to put in storage), maybe some clothes for decency, common utensils to eat with. Nothing else will be of any use to me, echoing judgements from a happier time, screaming accusations that i could have fought harder, tried more, been better.
and maybe a pair of those old shoes i could never fill.
Dividing up dvd's and knickknacks from vegas and the stuffed animals from six flags (remember, you wore the red shirt from our first date?) and all the christmas stuff (the way your eyes shone all cosy in our holiday contentedness, more concerned with being close to you and following your traditions), the Halloween stuff (which was up year round in the cosy purple bedroom that was my sanctuary, where we drank so much of our secrets, jack o'lantern grins that belied our true grim smiles), the knick knacks from our first dating ( monkey slippers and dog eared polaroids) the camping stuff (your breath so humid vaporous in the frosted rusty blades of autumn leaves, an annual occurence full of campsmoke and grime and mock savagery and clean lungs)
There's a walled of part of you that chooses what to bring as you venture bravely into your diverging new life, weighing ooptions, how to decorate. I see no pain in it, careful judicious deliberation.
But the decision is not hard for me. I need nothing for an unloved spartan life. I've already lost everything that mattered to me over the last five years, so i guess i'll keep the tools of my music (to put in storage), maybe some clothes for decency, common utensils to eat with. Nothing else will be of any use to me, echoing judgements from a happier time, screaming accusations that i could have fought harder, tried more, been better.
and maybe a pair of those old shoes i could never fill.