…an old pair of comfortable sandals, where the sole is sunken and the straps holding your feet in place are torn and battered beyond repair; loose t-shirts with a hole in them — maybe even an ancient stain — the one you’d wear on a tired day, lying in bed with no plans to move; a pencil, sharpened down to a stub, but kept safe because way back in school your first crush had held it once; a signed CD case dedicated to you and your friend, with the album CD inside even though you don’t have a CD player anymore; books — the ones you’ve read, the ones you haven’t, and the ones you’re ashamed to own and have read and secretly enjoy; a thought; a memory of a kiss in the dark that never led to anything more; a part of the heartache that came after; half broken toys from a childhood half forgotten; useless gifts from people who meant a lot; letters you never sent; empty boxes you know one day you’ll use to hold on to more; photographs — the smiles and the tears behind each; old watches holding on to frozen time from long ago; letters from old lovers; Encyclopaedias bought by well meaning parents in hopes you’d have all the knowledge at your fingertips; the memory of a scent; useful gifts from people that once meant a lot, but you dare not use now; guilt from a time you couldn’t help it; guilt from a time when you could; keys to unknown doors; love in the most unlikely of places…
Akshay G. never did learn to let go.
