I have several things left to pack:
First, the old grey jumper.
Second, a dusty photo album.
Third, that China plate from the kitchen.
Moving through to the hallway,
I swivel on the spot.
The cat eyes me from the stairs,
Swishing his tail left to right.
I gesture to him: In childlike voice
“Don’t worry I won’t be leaving you”.
Boxes laid at my feet, I fumble about.
What a life;
You spend most of it collecting junk;
And then you realise,
What an earth are you going to do with it all?
Leave it behind?
Chuck it away?
Chuck it away, leave it behind?
A disastrously difficult decision!
We are all sentimental someway.
The smell of cooked beef wafted from the kitchen.
Ah, home cooked meals.
I suppose it’ll be takeaways soon.
Until we’ve settled in of course.
It’s really real now isn’t it?
Like a punch of reality,
Slapping you in the face.
A bit like Sunday: You enjoy it but know that Mondays coming.
Gently, I stroked my cat.
Amongst the purring:
There came a sudden realisation,
That I had not started my list yet.
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