witty-remark's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
This is my mother. This shelf full of relics sent back from business trips. The snow globes, the teddy bears, the empty picture frames; all collecting dust. The post cards with brief hello�s and rushed goodbyes. This is my father. Birthday cards with belated wishes. Un-replied emails with pictures of buildings in downtown Toronto. A pawn shop necklace. This would be my brother. This room with the metal filing cabinet; graffiti scrawled on all 4 sides in permanent marker. Dime bags hidden in every nook and cranny. A metal pipe resting atop a political book. This is me to my mother: a fuzzy voice on the other end of the line. Think candy wrappers rubbed between your fingers beside your ears. This is me to my father: an occasional reminder that something outside of yourself exists. This is me to my brother: a nostalgic memory that�s fading out of sight. Think Saturday morning cartoons intercepted by poor reception; the roar of static and blizzard of monochromatic dots. I don�t know what I am to myself. (and if you're curious, that's an ACTUAL untouched photo of my family, documented compliments of my dad. It's beautifully appropriate that he's missing from the picture.) 8:42 p.m. - Sunday, Dec. 14, 2008 |
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