Stalled. 

Promises and determination lie in the corner, half polished and bent. Somewhat dusty, somewhat sticky. 

They’re like those old toys you discard after you’ve spent the glee in your chest on the newness of the shiny trinket. As the novelty fades, so does the glee. As we become older, these toys show up after every upheaval; say for example, a move. Unpacking boxes marked “toys” or “books”, when you come across these trinkets and think, THAT’S where I had put it! You spend hours reminiscing. The most exciting boxes though are ones marked “miscellaneous” or “unknown” (my personal favourite I must say). There’s no set bar on what you’d find here. Sometimes you come across an old red dress that you’d worn when you’d gone shopping at 14. Sometimes, you find a dead heart and a jar of jagged words, and it’s too heavy for you to pick up. This one time, I found a crying child in one of the boxes and I was really worried. I didn’t know what to do. It took a few days for me to figure out that I had actually just found a mirror. After that, I’ve been scared to look inside more boxes. There are so many to still unpack. 

I took a tangent, my apologies. As for the promises and determination, they haven’t been packed away yet. Twenty Four, we really need to step up our game. There are so many things that are quivering to be written about. There are still so many boxes making noise. 

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