It’s time to move on. Time to accept and let go. Time to forget.
Only, it’s not that easy.
Carefully I place it with all the old stuff. Fold the box close and seal it. Once. Twice. Thrice. So that not even the smallest of things peek out. Not even a fleck of dust enters.
It’s old. Has always been. But the fire has been alight all these years. Until now.
The wheels had been working extra hard. Turning extra fast. I was more adamant. Even more on fire. Alicia Keys couldn’t have said it better: She’s just a girl, and she’s on fire
Hotter than a fantasy, longer like a highway
She’s living in a world, and it’s on fire
Feeling the catastrophe, but she knows she can fly away But in the end nothing worked. One second it was hot and the next it was cold. Gone.
The musty smell gives me comfort. The cold keeps me warm. My legs will keep me standing and hands will keep me close.
Dust is in the air. Light peeks in through a crack in the window. And guides me across the room. Glitter swims before my eyes. Particles of forgotten things. Clothes, books, tables, chairs…dreams. The box is heavy in my hands. I’m losing feeling in my arms from the weight in my hands. They falter and shake. White to the core from the pressure. All circulation lost. Just as well. Time to say goodbye. Time to move on.