Time

Memories

I unbutton my shirt while climbing up the stairs and hang it in my wardrobe when I enter my room. I grab a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and I walk into the bathroom to take a shower. When I finish I go downstairs to unpack the rest of my boxes that I didn't manage to unpack when I moved in yesterday. I don't own much because I find that objects just take up space and make it even slower for me to move to the next place. In my boxes are mainly books and clothes because I had the house furnished before I moved in. I lug a box of my books upstairs and place each one on the shelf in alphabetical order. I have never understood people who shelf them by colour. After three more trips up and down the stairs, I've finished all the unpacking and start to cook dinner. I hate cooking, but unfortunately, it is one of the burdens that come with living alone by a town that barely has any fast food restaurants. I attempt to make some sort of pasta dish that I found a recipe for online and so far it seems fine. In the background, I have the radio on and even though the music is distasteful, it drowns out the silence. When the meal is cooked and I have finished eating, I sit down at my black grand piano. I tilt my head back and start to play the song I wrote for my sister. Although it is a slow song, it fills me with happy memories of us playing in the meadow together as children. I wrote this song after she passed away. I'll never forget seeing her for the last time that day. A pain in my chest surfaces so I decide to finish up and go upstairs to read before I fall asleep.