A Reminder

To the white wine of joy, winters, and New Year cheer

I am writing this so that when I read it later in life, I can recall what a wonderfully happy year this was.

I know the coming year will bring its own challenges and pains. There will be three sad days for every good one. But I hope that by this time next year, I have the courage to call 2017 just as beautiful.

Goodbye 2016,

Thank you for all the memories.

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The History of You

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She wore tens of layers in winters. None of them bigger than the ones they superseded. Each the same size, crafted for her round, pink body. They fit over each other like missing pieces of  jigsaw. They made so much sense together.

The white collar peeking from below the red sweater that slept within the sea-coloured coat and the  cream scarf of snow. Each bit a clue to a treasure map I had spent my entire life searching.

Paper Bag

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I have a small paper bag on my table that I fill with all things forgotten.

Also, some things I would like to forget. I hope the latter would one day feel like they have found their family, and finally, once and for all, leave me alone.

In this bag is a photograph from Grade six where I look like a boy. My old iPod earphones. A spool of thread from when I was learning to weave. Bobby-pins that I am convinced I have lost.

Also, a pair of socks that I took out last night. I was to wear them with my grey shoes. But then you never came to ring my doorbell, and I never left the house. So I tucked the socks into my paper bag, disappointed.

In this paper bag is a green pen I used when I wrote poetry, its ink dried. There is also a keyring from our first trip together, when I barely knew you, and I later realised, myself.

Also, the parchment I scribbled on on Thursday. A letter I never sent.

In this bag I put a little bit of me and a little bit of you each day.

Hoping to forget.

I am afraid, one day I finally will. And I will wander around my room, and discover a paper bag earthed in mothballs of dust and cobwebs of time. And having forgotten what it was, I will wonder what this is. Perhaps I will turn it upside down, and filter through its contents all over again.

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The Train

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I know you’ve been dreaming of the train all day. I know that you still are.

I can sense that your breath is trying to fit itself within the rhythmic churning of its wheels as they go round and round the blue forest of your mind.

I know you can smell its smoke through your skin, and feel the cold mist that washes in through its windows in your heart.

What if I tell you that when you wake up you’ll find yourself on this train? That you have been journeying on it all the while you’ve been dreaming. And that all it takes to wake up to reality is to break open your dream. Would you have the courage to abandon sweet thought and place your trust where I ask you to?

I hope you do.

Because I promise that this train will take you to a place more beautiful than the one you dream of.

With love,

Dad