“Bodies are bodies and bodies will touch”,

— Inviting and warm, a set, themed as a house—

Same role to play, a different guest star,

Bodies are bodies and bodies will touch,

— Cheers of the crowd. It’s a wrap, credits roll. —

Hoovering gatherings,
mind miles away,
I have the longing, the romantic,
weakening curse.  

It’s in my veins, makes my blood flow.

Pleasantries, nods,
Laughter becomes background noise.
Such a waste of present.
And still I can’t stop:

What if it was better before?

Self sabotaging makes a home
in my bones

Why I keep ruining it all?

Why am I trapped in this loop?

What is the lesson I need and refuse to be taught?

As I stood there,
cleaning my closet,
In the middle of a bunch of lovely trinkets—
I realised, I had baggage.
A lot of it. It wasn’t just stuff.

It wasn’t just an old sweater,
—It was the smell of him.
And perhaps the lovely necklace
that reminded me of school—
Or the cutest folded letter I forgot
Someone gave me, years ago..

How could I let go?

But it was moving day.

Boxes weren’t that large to fit everything.

I had to choose.

Which ones would stay..


               And which….  

                          
                              I had to let go.

I know my parents’ reason of concern.
What could they have done?
What could they have said?
It’s no one fault,
There’s no one to blame.
Nostalgia was just
their daughter’s best friend.

We are late-bloomers,
If you will.
We’ll get there.
Eventually,
A little off? Yes,
Still, In time.
No rush.
Don’t be scared.
The house, the kids,
The job, the love.
We’ll get there.
We’ve been here.
We are just late bloomers,
trust the process,
We’ll be okay,
I just know.