A Piece of My Being..

I have been calling up a lot of people these days, reminding them of my existence. Each day the rising sun brings me a fresh map - a voyage to be taken for the next 24 hours. So far, I have complied without many complaints. It's just getting tiresome lately.

There are bundles of papers lying around. Some contain pieces of my heart, others just have toenails wrapped inside. I have packed my life, my dreams and memories in each of these sheets, just couldn't manage to find a binder to stack them all in one neat pile. These sheets lay strewn all over the floor of my room - a dingy space with a a table and a cot inside.

I wish I could bequeath all I have and walk away naked to another lease. But maybe that is not for me to decide and will for. Maybe each shred on my being shall have a claimant of its own and together they shall come and take what belongs to them. I wonder what shall you get? Will it be a piece of my heart that I have been saving for you or will it be lost to someone who has been a stranger all the while.

I wonder what shall remain of me when I am all sliced up and distributed. What shall become of the rose shrub I had on my window sill? Would someone take that too? And what about the letters that you wrote to me, will they be pieced up word by word and claimed like other chunks of my soul?

I wish you were there to tidily pack me up for my journey. Cover me up with the silk of your hair and burn the incense of your kohl eyes to perfume my being. I would want to leave organized and ordered as I lived all along. I wish you were there to take care of my diaries in the locker - burn them up with me or maybe just take them with you.

Maybe I would have left the pen on my table for you or the unfinished canvas in my room or would you have liked that coffee mug from which we drank from once - one sip at a time. These are the things I guess, I owe you.

Maybe some kin of a heir would come and stash them up. Maybe the earnings of my entire life shall be thrown away or sold in scrap and only the purses shall be counted and secured.

On the shelf shall remain the dried up bottles of paint, a half written letter, an open box of chocolates, an unfinished book and a picture from the trip taken together - lonely, forsaken and unwanted.