In A Corner...

I still have your stuff in a corner of my house.

I don't know what to do with them, frankly. While you were only too glad to dispose of mine, I find that I can't return the favour -- not without one too many stops-to-think.

I see those bags everytime I get home, just before I walk up the stairs to the room that used to be ours at moments we thought would last forever. Sometimes I still stop to look through what I had put in them. Most of the time, I stop my pointless excavation before I make the inevitable discovery.

The clothes you gave me still ring true to my taste in colours and cuts. Tastefully chosen and timely presented, I wore them with a distinct appreciation. I still look at them in the same way, but I know the fabrics will never feel the same way again. Always, the tragic beauty in these things that land up in my hands.

That painted wooden star, sharply broken in two between the arms, still lie atop the pile; its wounds remind me of our frequent episodes of war and the painful but incomplete separation I afforded you. You see, while you meant to demolish my, now ugly, work of art you had neither the strength nor patience to complete it. Thus the compressed-wood-chips board was left with a dislocated limb and an irreparable wound.

I understand that you did what you felt you had to do. I can't hope to say the same for myself, though because in hind-sight I see my faults and at the same time dare not assume that I had acted in total accordance to my judgement. You would not accept my apologies, even though I had done what you wanted and nothing more beyond that. If you were to blame me for being incredibly impersonal, clinical and transactionary in this aspect, you'd be right. There is nothing much that I can say now about my actions that can shed the kind of light present at the moment of my decisions.

And so I still see those bags whenever I walk down the stairs. Of course there are other things -- your letters, cards, pictures, our christmas caps... And these thoughts.

Moving on... What DOES that mean, anyway? Coming to terms? Forgetting? Abandoning? Accepting? Or simply choosing one of these actions?

Then, I guess, we've both moved on in one way or another. It's just bags of stuff I should be seeing...



JKLM