Curled up memories

Like spiral pencil shavings

Crushed to dust in time.

The clothes all stay intact

But images that cling to them

Have shattered in the dark.

As I gather tenderly

I form distorted pictures

All with rosy tints.

And so I find it difficult

To cut through ties

And simply let it go.

I got some of my clothes back from my old house yesterday. I haven’t seen any of it for eight months and so I was really excited to get some of it back.

However, when I arrived at the house I saw that there were about twelve bags worth and I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to fit it all in my new, very tiny flat. So today I had to go through it and pick out what I wanted to keep.

Now, I haven’t seen this stuff for eight months so it’s arguable that I’ve proven I don’t actually need it. But as I went through it I found it really hard to make the choices.

The memories attached to each item were really strong and even things that I knew I would never use again felt painful to throw away. I know that it is the memories that are hurting me and not the item of clothing and I do find it fascinating.

I have managed to get through half of it and I’m not looking forward to the rest of it. I can see why people become hoarders because that gave me real anxiety; I really felt like I was throwing away a part of my history, a part of the story of Rachel.

Much Love

Rachel xx