I always feel the need to purge when I come home.
Out with the old, in with the new I guess.
Maybe it’s my way of controlling some little part of
The past.
A forever desire to simplify.
Surfaces empty, walls blank, books in order by genre or color.
Changing the space
So it’s not how it was before.
New space, new time.
New time, new space.
New feel.
Maybe it’s my way of respecting the past; give him a proper burial.
[the past is male because he doesn’t call me anymore]
But I wouldn’t go back and change him.
Mary's One Hundred 