I cannot bring myself to pack my toothbrush.
It's not too heavy,
Neither does it take a lot of space,
But it is the final piece
Of the now deconstructed
and hastily re-packed puzzle.
The only thread -
A lone, simple, everyday object
That I barely register,
Yet, cannot live without.
It's resting in its corner,
Serene like a monk who's practiced the everyday,
Everyday.
And, now is free of it.
Sitting pristinely till called to do its duty.
And yet this monk,
Free of attachments
Is the last piece securing me to a life
That's now taking a proverbial turn.
It's that moment: before I pack my bags and leave.
Can it extend to days,
and possibly months,
If not years
Of memories built
And thoughts shared
And laughter
Even the tears and sad smiles
All of them.
Just for one more moment,
A really long one?
Like a long starving cub
At an all-you-can-eat buffet,
I just want to devour every unborn moment.
Yet, I must be content,
To regurgitate what's already been consumed,
Later,
To reminisce on a nostalgic hot mess
Of the half-felt,
half-lived,
half-true,
half-desired.
Just many halves with conspicuous holes.
For can mere memories ever be whole,
as the people we leave behind?
The leaking taps smile at me today,
Ah, the irony!
My eyes leak too,
And my hands are just as futile
at plugging this leak.
Maybe leaks can rarely be attributed to faulty taps,
It's the pipes,
That rust and sometimes get choked up;
With all they refuse to let through;
And then one day,
We leak.
I twist the tap with a firmness,
That reflects in the mirrored face
That I must now wear for sometime.
"You've taken everything you need?
Your chargers, your toothbrush?"
I smile and nod.
Because my voice is lost somewhere in the blocked pipes;
Hoping with all my might,
That my smile is mistaken for excitement,
My nod for the affirmation I fail to deliver verbally.
I leave in an impregnated silence,
Knowing I've left behind everything I will ever need.
And,
A little to the left
In my bathroom,
The now never-to-be-used toothbrush,
Smiles back.
Home is where the toothbrush is! A prose that wrote itself as life took a different turn: this one is dedicated to my loving family; all of whom must be too puffy eyed to read this. :)
P.S. Mom: Please keep my toothbrush for another day.