17 March 2014

These fragile things

My room, at present, is the manifestation of the mess I currently am. A month after my trip, I have emptied my backpack, but all belongings still strewn about on my bed. Clean clothes, dirty clothes, clothes I fit to wear but decided not to, my camera, flight itineraries, maps, passport, purses. I have to camp out someplace else as I've left no place for myself in my own room.

It took me a while to find the courage to unpack from the trip; the baggage I took home with me was far too valuable to unload. But even when I finally did, here they are, left to dry out in the open--so terrifyingly exposed. I've cleared out my room so many times in the past months, but somehow I sit here looking over the mess I have created and despairingly ignored since my return. I have nowhere to put them.

Feelings. Feelings everywhere. And not enough closet space to sort them out to.

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