In Time

OPENING BOXES

Ok so normally after Momma bear leaves. Or rather according to the new schedule, I would be off to school now and then job and then tutoring and all that stuff.
However we've just moved in. Did I mention that? I think I did. But if not then we just moved in a day before. So for the sake of unpacking and to get adjusted, I am on a week's worth of holiday or absence from school. 

And for those who don't know, I, Valencia Cleo Ainsley am a 17 year old female organism who is going to start her senior year of high school here, albeit a week later.

So since school is out of commission for now and since I had a day's worth of time on my hand, Yesterday I hit the town, bought a few clothes, begged and flattered my way in to a famous cafe as an employee, and voila made a new schedule. By the way for those wondering about the tutoring thing, it's something I'm gonna do a 100% so i made a slot for that, the rest is as before.

And since my number one priority, the schedule is out of the way, I am currently making my way up to my room to clean up my, quote, ''mess'', meaning to unpack all the cartons and set the wardrobe and all the bejazz my room needs.

Okey dokey. I'll start off with an image of my house.
Our house is a double story. The lower floor or the ground mainly contains the kitchen, Dining and lounge along with the laundry room and the obvious garage. The usual.
On the second story, Momma bear takes the Master Bedroom and the second largest is mine. Perks of being a family of two. Well three, if he ever decides to come back, though I doubt that. Don't know why mom even saved Him a room. Though I made sure it's the smallest. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Now for my humble abode, My woman cave. My room, courtesy of mommy dearest, before our shifting in, is already painted. When you enter through the door, the wall straight opposite, has this big ass window with a broad ledge that i can easily sit on. That wall is painted a midnight blue. So beside the window, to the right is my black hard wood study table with a comfy, cushioned computer or office chair.On the left, to the corner of the window lies my Big one seater sofa.
Moving on, the wall left to the Door is painted a pitch black and is occupied by my queen sized bed, beside which is a door to a walk in closet and from there on the wardrobe is connected to the shared washroom between my room and that small room for uncertain people.
The wall to the right of the door is painted a royal blue. That wall is completely bare except for the door side , quarter of it, which is occupied by a book shelf.
The wall with the door itself is painted an ash black with the area on the right side occupied with a bookshelf, that connects to the other one. And that's the rough idea, actually it's a very detailed idea of my room. But well the places I call my own need to be showcased a little specially, in all their glory.

And thus, let us commence opening boxes.

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Honestly opening boxes has never been my thing. In all my memories whenever I've opened a box something bad came out. Whatever was in it only brought sorrow and so I don't like opening boxes. Because boxes are closed for reasons and because Fate and I don't exactly get along as buddies, the reasons behind closing the boxes, the items within the boxes, and the outcome of opening boxes, has only ever been painful to me. And so I hate it.

This time isn't any different either. The reasons why we had to pack these boxes, just thinking about them rips my soul apart. And the fact that the item within are all constant reminder of those reasons doesn't help at all. Plus the fact that i am gonna open theses boxes right now means i'm going to let what happened go, Yet the truth is I won't. As much as it would mean letting go of tragedies it would also mean letting go of good memories and I just cant do that.

And I hate how I need to rip the tape off, As if I was ripping the bandage on my wounds and how they will bleed all over again.

STOP. STOP. STOP.
If I don't, then I might fall. And I can't. Not so soon, not right now.
FORGET IT, for now.
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Clothes. Right. UHM. So the first box is clothes, I suppose I'll hang the dresses and line up all shirts and bottoms and shoes.
Next my beloved books. A collection of all that I ever read and some which I have yet to read.
Line them up, genre by genre. By what I have and what I will.
Then I spread my bed sheet, a pattern of blues and blacks, and black curtains.
Then the carpeting is all done and over all major things are put away.

For the last and most important part, the scariest box. Well, two boxes. One has Picture frames and the other has tons of photographs. That is why I kept that one wall bare, I'm gonna put them all there. So to begin with I need to cover the wall with a giant sheet of paper, I'm gonna stick it on the wall. Next step, I take all the photographs, the ones of mom and me, the ones of my father and me, photographs with all four of us, some couple shots of Mom and Father. Then the ones of Valentine (Him) and I. Damn those photographs are too painful to look at.

Among all the photos, not even my fathers's pain me as much as my pictures with Valentine.
He was my big brother, by five years. And I loved him, too much to count. Vale was that ultimate brother of mine, the ones who baby their little sisters, the ones who are over protective, the ones who we little sisters idolize. He was that It person for me. And he of all people I never thought would leave. But he did. So easily. And I would blame my father, I could blame that sperm donor, but then again he didn't hold Vales hand and lead him out. 
Vale left on his own accord. Because he wanted to. Because he was too much of  a coward to stay.

Drip. Drip. Drip
Aah my eyes are blurred. I'm crying again. Over him, over them, knowing full well that I shouldn't. But I am crying. It feels as if I'm revisiting it all. All the reason for these closed boxes. And so with tear tracks marking my cheeks I stand up and put all the photographs together. I form the ultimate collage, covering the whole of the wall.

I call it ''Beautiful Tragedies''

And it's weird because nothing about half of the people in these photographs is beautiful. They are nothing but a painful scar, a tragedy to me. Yet still somehow there was a time when they too were beautiful. In these pictures they are beautiful. Moments before, minutes before they became tragic memories to someone else. They are beautiful lies, seconds before showing themselves as their ugly truth.

Aah I shouldn't have been opening boxes.

I can feel it in my words, how serious, heavy and deep they just became. Tonight's gonna be rough. I knew opening boxes was bad luck, the inevitability of it be damned. 

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-Misty
Another one bites the dust.
BOOM.