xx, BD
My own ghosts of this empty flat have their own ghosts The last rung of the ladder I would workout on has a Voldemort A paint stain that is an unmistakable likeness of the Dark Lord I fall asleep to memories of multiple forgotten dreams suddenly recalled before sleep Every emotion here intensifies Accidentally seeing a lone sleeping leg in the mirror of the dark room frightens my very soul As I no longer sleep in front of mirrors in my new home(s) So many old secrets still embedded in neglected storage A grandmother's gift of a diamond pendant claimed by its hungry drawers Missing for fifteen years A dress and a pair of jeans impossibly too small that somehow would (albeit temporarily) fit me As I pack up the flat methodically, in a ritualistic dance with the old highly replace-worthy mop It occurs to me that: There is so much the walls with its webby corners still gives Just being alone here is like reclaiming a sleeping part of my old untethered identity ...