One day I will be gone

One day i’ll be gone

Will i remember the life i lived or will it disappear in a jiffy?

Will it matter how i lived my life or it doesn't matter if a milk was consumed before its expiry date?

Do the moments talk when you are leaving? Is there a tally at the end? Loves contributing to the luxury villa and hates downgrading your stay? Where do missed opportunities go? And the un-maximised moments? Do they count?

Does anyone care if in my last few days in the place that was home for the past 20 months I feel my feelings or zoom past them in the rush to pack and move, checklists, to do lists, blurrs and boom! over, to the next phase.

Does it matter if it matters? Will I not stop and stare if somehow it didn't count towards my afterlife luxuries? Will I be able to stop the feelings? Can I re-train my body to not constrict with unexpressed thoughts and can I stop the welling on command every time I start to pack but can’t get myself to and there lies all over my room half packed bags and boxes, needing to be filled but not wanting to, not able to.

And as I pack my belongings — some that came from my past life and some that found me in my new one, some that’ll accompany me in my new stage and some that will stay behind— all the small and big moments from the past 20 months are showing themselves for a final bow before they move themselves into boxes, boxes that will now be shelved as another chapter of life.

As I pack, as I feel, as I overwhelm, heart smiles with contentment and joy for the colours, colours that I got with me when I came here, colours that I found after getting here and colours that got created as they bumped with other colours from my old and new life.

Here goes another chapter, another scene, the curtain draws as the narrator narrates “Our protagonist locked the house and leaped forward, it felt like a closure, it felt like an end and it felt like a beginning, what will she do next? Where will life take her now? The joys of visiting her old life, the uncertainties of the new one and the forever feeling of awe at the parallelness of it all. It will all unfold slowly as we watch, but for now, she breathes, stops and stares. Will she finish packing in time? Stay tuned”.

One day when I will be gone, will it all be gone too? To the next ‘home’ or the next life or the next page of another chapter. Will it matter? will it count? what will happen to my medium posts? Will my afterlife resemble my drifting trail of thoughts or at least their start and end will make sense?