And again, I am lost. I am lost and I can’t find a reason to keep on holding onto things. The feeling you get when you’re sad or during times of despair. I wouldn’t call them moments because the era in which feelings were lived by the moment no longer exists however the reason remains mysteriously unanswered, unasked.
I look around me and all I see is dust. It seems to me that dust is one of the very few things that preserves the evidence of someone existence and what they have done. Not sure if you would get this the way I want you to, but I am a dust person. This doesn’t mean I’m not clean; I am very clean and tidy. I just love dust. More specifically, I love your marks on dust. I would intentionally leave some areas dusty so that, after you leave, your marks on dust would resemble beautiful memories that would occasionally throw me back into that dark corner at the other side of the room sitting on the floor with my head on my knees. Then suddenly, salty drops of water roll down on my cheeks like if they were a roller coaster.
The powerful collision of dark emotions such as sadness, despair, feeling lost, among others awaken the monster inside of my only angrier so I stand up on my feet with a big black cross on my face that is my eyebrows and with all the anger in me I beat the dust with my palm wide open, hard enough to shake it all off in a way to let go of the memories that make me only sadder but all efforts have gone useless.
What are we without the memories we carry with us wherever we go? What are we if we were to immediately forget and never remember? Tell me who I am and what am I to you for I shall recover from this misery and rise up as my body is buried under the rubble of my memory. For I to stand up, to stomp the memories and shake the dust off my shoulders.