What I Remember

Opulent eggshell door, beige leather seats,

striped strap with small black pen blotch

Two Nici stuffed animals, a sheep and a squirrel

Grey and white squirrel with fair smooth tail.

Bought one in Munich or Frankfurt initially for my luggage

As many trinkets were snatched in the conveyor belt,

I put it in your car instead.

No, it was your late mom’s.

The storage and what’s inside.

Some documents, sunglasses and a pack of envelopes

See, you were on that age to receive wedding invitations

Should be ready with envelopes

You crafted your own cable connector from the radio to iPod

You picked purple

Because I liked purple

And how you were annoyed everytime I used the mirror behind the sun shade

The garage, connected to the kitchen.

Where the plates, knives, glasses were

One crooked glass with dregs stain

The bar, drugs, your late mom’s keys collection

Photos of your nephews, nieces in collages

Toddler mat

All in the dining room.

Wind chimes

Your big screen TV because you loved TV. And big screen

Carpet and cushions

Wooden lounging chair

Broken organ

Family portrait

Beige sofas

The rooms

I remember too much

Your cats, I still have her colorful necklace

How she snuggled to me

Balinese blue mirror from Sukowati from our trip together on the outside

Graduation pictures

Manicured garden

It was gloomy, unattended, yet homey

It was refurbished, clean, yet abandoned

It moved with the age but stopped somewhere

Coexistence between past and progress

And where it stopped with mid flair

Revisited as weekend gathering

Secluded.

Perhaps those were the reasons.

My picture on the wall though

As vivid as

what I remember