Describe a room full of objects that each symbolise someone you hurt.
Each item represents a person.
β’ What are the objects?
β’ Which ones are broken?
β’ Which ones are locked away?
β’ Which ones do you still think about touching, and why?
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In my house I have a room. Itβs a strange room. It doesnβt have any furniture besides shelves and cabinets. It is well lit, though no lamp or windows are there to give light. The room changes colours, size smell, hue and the objects inside are sometimes bigger or smaller, more visible or more hidden.
There are items and object all over the room. On the shelves, in the cabinets, on the floor. Some of the items are broken, some pristine and in their boxes still, some look like old and forgotten heirlooms dusty and dim. I walk into this room from time to time. To see and to remember. Remember people, times, myself. At times, it is the objects themselves that draws me in. They call to me and it seems that I canβt do anything but to go to them. Often these objects are more lit and clearer to me as I enter the room.
There is a shell from a beach long ago surrounded by the blue-green hue of the ocean and the clear summer sky that often calls to me. It is big, layered in various colours and a thick layer of motherβs pearl on the inside. It is beautiful , but it has a crack in it and it is missing a chip. I am afraid of touching it in case I would end up breaking it more. I want to pick it up, glue it together and put it on a safe spot. Make it stronger so that I could perhaps take it out of that room. But I dare not.
There is a doll there too. It is not broken or anything. A bit dusty, but otherwise in seemingly good condition. I never touch it. I donβt like it. I have it locked up in a cabinet, but I can still see it through the glass door. Big curly hair, pink dress and those eyes. They stare at me and sometimes I feel as if the eyes follows me around the room. They are resentful, suspicious and flickers with malice.
On one of the walls is a picture. It hangs crooked in a notched frame where the paint is missing. I tried at times to straighten it up, but the next time I came back it was crooked again. A couple of times, more of the paint had disappeared from the frame and the colours in the painting seemed almost to have faded some. It was less vibrant. Less clear. I have stopped trying to fix it now. Sometimes I have fixed an item without knowing it. Sometimes I have destroyed an object in my attempt to mend it. But I have stopped touching them. Not because I want to, no. I want to touch and feel and hold many of the items to my chest. Let my heartbeat tell how sorry I am. Let my heat warm them up. Be close to them again.
But I have realised that itβs not mine to touch anymore. Theyβre not mine to fix unless a clear sign is presented to me to do so, but even then I find it hard and I am afraid of ruining them more.
I realised once, a porcelain vase I had broken was suddenly mended and filled with flowers. The cracks in the porcelain had been mended with gold and the flowers shone like the sun. It made me happy to see, yet filled with a strange sorrow. The next day the vase was gone.
Some of the items I rarely look at or even remember are there. These I occasionally stumble upon when Iβm not looking carefully enough where I step or turn. I pick them up again, dust them off and hope none of them have been broken or damaged by me. Or at least not more damaged by me.
There are rocks in the room as well. Grey, white, black, pink and pretty much every other colour imaginable.
I broke one once when I tried to get some dust and dirt of it. It cracked open and turned out to be a beautiful geode. Sparkling, glistening and full of colours. I felt so silly and stupid for not realising what I had before I broke and attained it. The geode disappeared from the room shortly after. The beauty of it was not mine to keep and it is now being kept by someone else. Someone who loves it dearly and shows it to everyone.
Often I just stands in the room. Just standing there. Looking at everything in it.
I want to repair the broken ones, fix up the faded paint, clean away the smudge. Make everything look fine and wholesome again as it once was before I crossed the path of the persons behind those objects.
There is much hurt and grief in that room and I want to make it all go away because I made it and created it, and I could have fixed so much of it had I done anything sooner.
I am working on not obtaining any more objects now. Maybe if I am able to go a while without any new ones appearing, some of the old ones will mend and disappear?
