spring cleaning

I wish cleaning out the heart was as easy as cleaning out a room.

The remnants of six months worth of accumulated drudgery sit in a trashbag just outside my room door: papers, plastic, bits of wire and orphaned power chords - a potpourri of procrastination and spent utility in a yellow translucent plastic bag. While the room certainly looks cleaner and more spacious, the air feels slightly chalky, thickened by the dust thrown up during the hour-long eviction.

But dormant particles of shed skin and god-knows-what-else weren't the only things aroused in the process.

Memories and emotions found their form in rediscovered photographs, letters and trinkets as well. Celluloid smiles and neat script on folded pieces of paper strewn as carelessly around my room as their intangible analogues littered the space of my heart.

Memories are like wine: some better with age, others spoil quickly if left unresolved.

Everything looks neater now, but only on the surface.