A Pile of Clothes

Isn't startling how many memories a pile of clothes can hold?

 

Today I went threw my large pile of clothing picking up cardigans that I often wore with red lipstick and held while clutching coffee cups. Picking up plaid shirts I bravely wore in the heat of Florida October weather in order to make for good Fall pictures: holding pumpkins and crammed in a Hayride. Saying goodbye to the knit peach colored sweater my old lady neighbor and adopted Grandmother (who recently just passed away) knitted for me when I was twelve. I saw tank tops that I can fervently remember wearing after coming back from the beach and shorts with the American flag on it that I remember wearing when I was fifteen and I had used a temporary dye to make my hair reddish brown and I wore on the fourth of July where I watched the fireworks go off at a local park we sometimes go to. Pieces of myself are hidden in those clothes and memories are knit within the fabric. And I'm sitting there sorting my clothes into piles and Claire De Lune comes upon my spotify playlist and all the sudden a song I found so pretty and enchanting becomes haunting and sad. I feel choked up with emotions and tears are trapped in my eyes. I look in the mirror at myself and see the no make-up, hair in the bun self glancing into the past. It's like on tv when they have a person experience flashbacks and all the sudden all of the memories play before them in black and white and it's a montage of certain occasions. It's like that. I feel weighed down by the heaviness. But not held down. There are more memories to come. A visit to the past is okay. But it's not good to live there.

 

So, I'll keep moving on in shorts, jeans, sweaters, t-shirts, swimsuits and pajamas.