unready-
like I'm saying goodbye to my life again.
I've packed my life into two bags once again, with a backpack soon to be strapped to me,
yet my life spills out everywhere,
as if I had never packed in the first place.
its an intangible context-
sure, I need clothes to cover my body,
and I wish to bring back food for those who weren't here to experience this flavour of life with me,
but none of the experiences,
the love,
and the light (in addition to the dark),
can be packed away,
no matter how many bags I carry with me.
We can try to share the stories:
explicit, brutally honest, and filled with reflection….but there's the element of being able to share your mind at the time,
the emotions,
the circumstances understood by you, but unknown to an audience,
that all slip away,
left untold,
becoming your unintended secret.
Words unsaid, pages unmarked
