Leftovers are clothes handed down to sisters, to cousins, to maids. It’s food left on the plate that someone else finishes. It’s food at the end of the day that is fed to the birds. The pots and pans that are donated to the Salvation Army. Books, jewelry, movies, games, mirrors, frames left outside on garbage days.
Leftover. When my brother makes a mess and I clean it up to avoid my mother’s wrath. The tears my girlfriend wipes and thoughts she consoles because someone called me names. The memories friends reminisce at a reunion with laughter so loud it reaches the bygone moments. The heartache I revisit on cold nights with red wine in my hand staring at the full moon.
Leftovers are thoughts left unsaid, goodbyes thrown into void and rehearsed so often reality and dreams blur. Regrets seeped into soul, affecting every thought, every action so they could haunt us back with more force. Unfulfilled promises and imagined conversations we drag through the reality we don’t accept.
Leftover. I am a leftover and maybe you too.
Inspired by the topic at The Daily Post Writing Challenge