We have a popular car-boot sale here every month where you can sell junk,
it’s like a yard sale and a whole lot of us get together,
and people come and buy our pre-loved stuff.
I have been clearing out
and it is more than just dust and papers,
it’s my heart.
I find photos of Steve
and his twelve-step books,
a valentine card he gave me,
and the Egyptian cotton sheets he slept on,
Some things I still hold onto for dear life,
his cricket bat
and his last box of cigarettes.
I know it seems strange
but those were the things he touched
they connect me to him
they are his beloved things,
that brought him happiness!
raw hurts like crazy
raw breaks me
I clean out these closets of my sorrow
again and again
but they still find me
in the dust
in the tears
disguised as hay-fever
trickling down my face.
they can’t wash me out
I look through old photographs
and fragments of him
and I am destroyed,
I don’t know if I will survive,
but I hear his voice
through the piles of papers
his favorite books,
poems he wrote,
through the terrible suffering he endured
and he always forgave
and he still forgives…
and he tells me to do the same!
he lives on in my everyday dreams,
he is the voice in my head reminding me
that everything will be okay,
he’s my teacher,
a guardian of my secrets
freed now from his Earthly pain…
the car boot sale isn’t big enough
to hold my baggage,
to sell it to the next poor unassuming soul.
I am a hoarder of memories
selling them doesn’t feel like a betrayal,
it’s more like the gradual letting go of indescribable pain,
or maybe it’s just to forget….
these are the things I must do to survive
I will hold this connection in my heart forever
and we will meet again, face to face,
it’s the sacred vow we made together once
long before my memories began…