// part of a soul project
I want to keep pieces of him. I want them on my body. I want them in my bed. I want to find them in corners when I open a drawer or turn a handle. But I push through and fill a box, article by article, and I leave no trace.
Now I unpack the intangible. The anger. The exhaustion. The disappointment. The care. The avoidance. The unknown. I unpack all day long. With friends. With myself. With willing strangers sometimes. I climb any tree with a handhold and survey it all again from a new perspective. The ground below warps, expands. I am again who I ever was. I am at home in the trees.