Here, at the corner of my room, piled together: a red velvet box, its lid tied in at the top with two ribbons of silver and pink, three used t-shirts that once smelt strongly of someone else, is now washed away with the scent of detergent, having been completely untouched for so long. And in the box, petals of potpourri, polaroid photographs, a letter, and a mug.
I sense a certain kind of sadness, slowly creeping from the bellow of my throat, as I stare silently at that desolate corner.
It is already June. My 19th birthday approaches in simply two weeks time. Now, more vague and distant memories pool in the folds of my thoughts - the sadness growing faster, more intense. The walls of my throat tighten, burdening me with an aching pain of its gaining weight.
Heaviness.
A tear, slowly trickles down my right cheek, falling off of my chin, staining my night blouse. More begin to follow. The silence of my bedroom is broken with sobs.
Getting softer now, I rub my eyes, dampening my fingers and sleeves. My face stinging with the drying salt of my tears. I inhale.
A smile. A smile, I myself, do not understand.
Perhaps the sadness has gone away. Perhaps this is the calm after the storm.
From downstairs, I have brought up a big black plastic bag - one large enough to fit a fellow human being. With this, I place, gently, the things I had before piled up in the corner.
I tie the bag at its end, and take a few steps back.
Within the bag are the sinews of two people's sentimental hopes - like a caged beast; like sealed lips; like deceitful eyes. Crying and wailing are the words they had once exchanged. The lies, and unfulfilled promises struggle passionately against the black plastic skin that caves it in.
I am uncertain of what fate lies ahead of the souls of this tattered past.
Though I know for sure, they will not be here to haunt me any longer.
I have already spoken the words of my goodbye - now here is my gesture.
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