Letting Go


It’s never easy to let go.

Sitting at the threshold of my now vacant house, I found myself swamped by emotions. The memories came in like tide, overlapping each other and in quick succession. I remembered the laughter that filled this place, the chatter, the stray shout of “have you seen my phone?” I remembered the sonorous tinkling of the wind chime that gave a background score to everything that transpired here. My eyes travelled to the empty hook. That was exactly where it stayed, where it was tied up, where it swayed. It wasn’t there anymore.

I looked around and remembered the frantic steps through the hallways and the rooms before each of their classical dance performances. I remembered struggling through the ornate ensemble, the elaborate hair-do and the gaudy make-up on little faces. I remembered my exasperation and, “this is the last time!” And yet after each show, I remembered lovingly folding the costume and arranging the bits and pieces back. I remembered strewn books, guitar and roller blades here. I remembered little girls that grew up. I remembered the pitter-patter of doggy steps. I remembered doggy licks and woofs and vigorous swishing of tail. I remembered the sounds of laughter as guests walked in.  I remembered lazy afternoons, the sounds of breeze, the birds at a distance, and the gentle rustling of the leaves.

The rustling reminded me that time has passed. Considerable time.

A yellowed leaf floated in gently and landed somewhere near. At another point in time, I would have picked that leaf up, an intruder to my space. This time, I smiled at it. It was an intruder, just as I was. The afternoon stretched in to the vacuous space, derived of warmth and breath. It was time to let go. I glanced back one last time, and walked away.

 

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