Closet.

I open the doors, I see a lot of things. I explore them all. Each “thing” has a story. I try to remember them all. Few bad, few good, few special. Without realizing, I have millions of stories. They are mine, I possess them and they belong to me. I need them all. However, I do not want all of them. The ones I don’t want are just lying there, they still exist in my being. They stay, not allowing new me to move ahead. They are all there, just there, and their existence is proof of my negligence towards myself.

I see them and remember a lot of things. I commit to memory, go into a trance. I think of every story I survived. It starts giving birth to countless negative emotions. I reminisce what I intended to leave behind but is still existing in my present, growing without my knowing. Hate and anger is all I know. I don’t want them. I can’t see the good.

They need to go. I decide to remove them forever. I begin my process. I start cleaning…

Photograph by Tapan Pandit