Closet Memories
My Dearest Love,
I have returned to our closet to pack up more of your clothes. It is a large task that has seen me take many, many 30 gallon trash bags of your clothes to the Goodwill. Today, I am working on the long, lower rack where you kept your casual and dress slacks and many of your shirts. With each one, I lift memories off of the hanger and carefully fold bits and pieces of our past over and over in my hands before gently placing them in the black plastic bag at my feet. Sometimes it becomes overwhelming and I must stop for a while.
This is one of those times. I came to one of your striped, knit shirts with the thin strips running horizontally. I remember how I loved it when you wore that shirt because the strips highlighted the contours of your breasts. I never tired of watching you as we both grew older and changed with age and those memories are with me still. It is difficult to part with the physical links to those memories, but I know I must. Today will be the day I finish with most of the hanging clothes and make another trip to the Goodwill.
What do they think when they see me coming again and again? It is usually the same guy or guys on the drop off dock - Somali refugees, I think. What journey will these threads now embark upon? Will I be walking down the street some summer day, or be sitting at some sidewalk cafe and see you walk past in the crowd, mind confused, not quite knowing why until the conscious part of me catches up with the unconscious and recognizes a favorite pattern quickly becoming lost in the throng? Most likely not, but these thoughts and questions run through my mind as I touch and remember in the closet.
Forever yours,
D.
I have returned to our closet to pack up more of your clothes. It is a large task that has seen me take many, many 30 gallon trash bags of your clothes to the Goodwill. Today, I am working on the long, lower rack where you kept your casual and dress slacks and many of your shirts. With each one, I lift memories off of the hanger and carefully fold bits and pieces of our past over and over in my hands before gently placing them in the black plastic bag at my feet. Sometimes it becomes overwhelming and I must stop for a while.
This is one of those times. I came to one of your striped, knit shirts with the thin strips running horizontally. I remember how I loved it when you wore that shirt because the strips highlighted the contours of your breasts. I never tired of watching you as we both grew older and changed with age and those memories are with me still. It is difficult to part with the physical links to those memories, but I know I must. Today will be the day I finish with most of the hanging clothes and make another trip to the Goodwill.
What do they think when they see me coming again and again? It is usually the same guy or guys on the drop off dock - Somali refugees, I think. What journey will these threads now embark upon? Will I be walking down the street some summer day, or be sitting at some sidewalk cafe and see you walk past in the crowd, mind confused, not quite knowing why until the conscious part of me catches up with the unconscious and recognizes a favorite pattern quickly becoming lost in the throng? Most likely not, but these thoughts and questions run through my mind as I touch and remember in the closet.
Forever yours,
D.
Copyright ©2003-2007 Phaedrous
posted by Phaedrous at 9:28 AM
1 Comments:
These are beautiful. I've been reading from the beginning, but I think I usually commented under my hnt site.
I reread a few of your archives today.
Your words to and about C are just beautiful.
And I know what you mean by missing "Touch". Touch is so underrated and people don't realize what they're missing until it's gone.
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