The Return

Returning back from a dream, I walked into my apartment and realized my life was literally, a mess.

I walked in and sucked in my breath. The AC was off and the air was warm, and it tasted like a sick mix of obligation and responsibility.

It was terrifying to walk into my former existence. Without my hazy-prespective from addiction, this place was just a shell and not my home. I strolled in here fully awakened by experience, and am forced to resume MY life… the life I had planned on… not the one I had vacationed in, the life I’m returning from.

As I exhaled that first stale breath I had sucked in before stepping into the living room, I saw everything again for the first time.

Do you know what I’m talking about? When you spend so much time away from home that when you finally return with an intent on staying…everything you had looked at… thrown down in a rush…and stepped over a million times during your “in and out” dash to do better things… now, all those familar things look so different.

Everywhere were the mistakes of my past all in forms of my possessions…the garbage and clutter; evidence of my haste. The piles of laundry and shopping bags; proof of my dis-concern while I was out with Him.

I stop to stare at the Easter eggs, a Christmas ornament, a Fall candle… all seasonally inappropriate to the moment…all still left out, forgotten timestamps of how long I had not been here. Amongst perfume bottles, receipts were empty wine bottles… and…

I pour myself a shot. As the shot goes down, I feel like I’m swallowing the memories I am staring at.

Little memories of my past life – of the dream I just woke up from

Scraps. The only evidence that I had lived in the Rabbit Hole and never arrived to reality or entered Wonderland.

* A piece from my new blog space for fiction… Afterparty.


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