I keep forgetting something in the other room
I walk along a long hallway, past multiple doors, behind one there is an artwork stretched across the floor
I walk past three mirrors and a lot of unused storage room like future for upcoming graduates
Past a statue of two religion-men in robes frozen in bronze, past a crystal calla, laying on the side, an old-timer and a motorcycle model, past a series of pictures and intricate teaware
I reach the bedroom where my friend's teddy bear lies, waiting
She had left me it for comfort when she noticed how much comfort it gives me
Like when I was howling for my mother at my first day in daycare and a boy offered me his teddy bear
I could not even see past the tears, vision blurry until im back bed before work folding glasses
I still faintly smell her on the teddy bear, she always smells like summer, like tropical things, cocopeat and mangrove leaf,
And then, on my long way to the bathrooms I remember laying in rental sunbeds on a beach at night, stargazing and talking until we no longer couldn’t, and she said this was her favorite thing to do until the tide came in and started licking at the feet of the beds and I had then wished the dark water would carry us away into the long hallways of sleep
But we went to the bungalow and waited to get on with the trip and with the tired lies we tell ourselves like little heirlooms as attempts at intergenerational connection into an unnecessary future in a glass cabinet and an unfinished painting of a shaking flower.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 3:53 PM UTC
I keep forgetting something in the other room
I walk along a long hallway, past multiple doors, behind one there is an artwork stretched across the floor
I walk past three mirrors and a lot of unused storage room like future for upcoming graduates
Past a statue of two religion-men in robes frozen in bronze, past a crystal calla, laying on the side, an old-timer and a motorcycle model, past a series of pictures and intricate teaware
I reach the bedroom where my friend's teddy bear lies, waiting
She had left me it for comfort when she noticed how much comfort it gives me
Like when I was howling for my mother at my first day in daycare and a boy offered me his teddy bear
I could not even see past the tears, vision blurry until im back bed before work folding glasses
I still faintly smell her on the teddy bear, she always smells like summer, like tropical things, cocopeat and mangrove leaf,
And then, on my long way to the bathrooms I remember laying in rental sunbeds on a beach at night, stargazing and talking until we no longer couldn’t, and she said this was her favorite thing to do until the tide came in and started licking at the feet of the beds and I had then wished the dark water would carry us away into the long hallways of sleep
But we went to the bungalow and waited to get on with the trip and with the tired lies we tell ourselves like little heirlooms as attempts at intergenerational connection into an unnecessary future in a glass cabinet and an unfinished painting of a shaking flower.