The backpack is halfway done. I still need to borrow socks (with no holes, if possible) from dad and take over of a few hair products from mom. Done, reviewed, and sealed, now all that's left is to wait until departure time. To pass the time, I take a walk in the garden - it's one of the few places where I see changes, where the passage of time leaves its mark. Because otherwise, everything will remain just as I left it-. I store many memories there, each one better than the last. I find myself observing a sandbox located at the back of the house, near a hammock tied between two trees. When I was a little kid, I used to spend entire afternoons in that sandbox; I would build sandcastles, walk barefoot on it, and grab it tightly with my hands to let it slip through my fingers. Perhaps that's where my love for the beach originated. To this day, the bodies of two dogs I had in my childhood and adolescence are buried in that sandbox. Bloody hell, how I loved them and how I still love them. What fault will they have in anything, in anything bad that happens to them. I open the closet again to see if there's any clothing left for me to take. When I open that closet again, it will be a treasure trove of memories. All that clothing won't feel like mine; it will belong to that boy who left one day and left it there. How difficult it is to live with what i used to be and with those garments full of memories. I find no remedy for it, nor do I even pretend to look for one.
Mom i leave on Tuesday
Mom i leave on Tuesday
Mom i leave on Tuesday
The backpack is halfway done. I still need to borrow socks (with no holes, if possible) from dad and take over of a few hair products from mom. Done, reviewed, and sealed, now all that's left is to wait until departure time. To pass the time, I take a walk in the garden - it's one of the few places where I see changes, where the passage of time leaves its mark. Because otherwise, everything will remain just as I left it-. I store many memories there, each one better than the last. I find myself observing a sandbox located at the back of the house, near a hammock tied between two trees. When I was a little kid, I used to spend entire afternoons in that sandbox; I would build sandcastles, walk barefoot on it, and grab it tightly with my hands to let it slip through my fingers. Perhaps that's where my love for the beach originated. To this day, the bodies of two dogs I had in my childhood and adolescence are buried in that sandbox. Bloody hell, how I loved them and how I still love them. What fault will they have in anything, in anything bad that happens to them. I open the closet again to see if there's any clothing left for me to take. When I open that closet again, it will be a treasure trove of memories. All that clothing won't feel like mine; it will belong to that boy who left one day and left it there. How difficult it is to live with what i used to be and with those garments full of memories. I find no remedy for it, nor do I even pretend to look for one.