Your hands pulse with a satisfying ache, the skin beginning to crack,
You’ve busied yourself with cleaning up the past.
Tidying up corners, polishing up memories
Until they are bright and flawless – a false perfection, a comforting fib –
That affords you a nostalgic sigh as you stare back longingly
At a collection of things half-remembered, half-created.
“Ah, the good ol’ days.”
You flip through this new photobook with wistful glances
At times when life was better, or easier, or happier,
Revering moments that were not quite as they seem,
Forgetting all the while that you are breathing here.
You hear the present knocking, waiting politely at your door
Asking if you will join it for a walk, just a little one.
“It’s a lovely day outside.”
You hunker down, pulling blankets round you,
Wrapping yourself with fabricated tales of days long since past.
A familiar fortification that is safe and warm.
But as you glance at the material again, you realize their comfort now presses on you,
Weighty and changed. There is no room for these sheets beyond those doors.
A frightening freedom reveals itself.
Through that threshold is a new world, no familiar faces, no tired remembrances
Of a time that has anchored itself into your mind.
“Goodbye old, hello new”
Today you’re making room for you.