In preparation for a trip, I opened up a box of saris and other clothes I have not used in a long time. Most are gifts from people who are no longer a part of my life or have moved so far away mentally that I can no longer feel their presence. The history of these clothes is mixed. Some even belong to J so they are not mine to discard. The acting of dredging through the past that afternoon stirred emotions I was unprepared for. There was anxiety and guilt for the most part and the overwhelming desire to forget. But the process of taking them all out and putting them back again took time. As always, good, bad and the ugly coalesced in an immovable lump.
I showed J clothes I had designed for myself when I was younger than her with some tailoring help from my mother. She tried them on and commented on their vintage feel. They have no place to go except back in the box where many vignettes from my past reside. As I struggled to fall asleep that night, I realized that box is like a person's body. You don't hack the limb that hurts. Instead you work on it - revisiting the pain many times to heal it.
crossings as in traversals, contradictions, counterpoints of the heart though often not..
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