one of these days, i'm going to write about how taking care of my heart is a chore i wish i took more seriously.
every time i try to clear out the cobwebs inside my chest, i bump my head and shoulders into things hooked on its walls; knock my knees and toes into things stuffed in its nooks and crannies. i would lay low and slowly unpack the baggage i accumulated and start learning to compartmentalise, unhang the skeletons of souls that have been chasing me in my dreams, undogear the chapters that are done and dusted where you, like all the others, remain a metaphor, a foreshadowing, a symbol, a period that i thought would fit my lifelong sentence, but that's a story for another day.
my obsession with hoarding memories like my life depended on it has long been a problem just like my system being an "organised mess" — you and i both know, i am the mess. until i can fold away my feelings from my past and tuck away my thoughts about my future to make sense of my present, i will have to keep collecting these scattered words and phrases waiting to be bound and sealed in a box somewhere.
one of these days, i'm going to write about how taking care of my heart is a chore i took seriously so that when it stops beating it is full and light at the same time.