Baggage

I've been carrying around baggage and I'm tired of it. So tired.

The baggage is not of the luggage variety. In this case the baggage is a euphemism for currently defunct relationships.

In recent daydreams, I find myself wanting to set certain memories of people on fire--akin to incense burning, NOT trapping people inside a barn and striking a match. I am not pyromania inclined (except perhaps when I'm hot under the collar). But there just seems to me a sense of cleansing that comes out of the image of burning up unhappy memories...

Sigh. Labeling it "unhappy" begins to suffocate the memories and the relationships in polyester when really, I rather fancy cotton. "Nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so."

In some daydreams, I choose to walk away from the baggage. I spy it from afar before it even knows I'm in the vicinity and then I make the deliberate choice to cross over to the other side of the street. Yes, there are some who would label this as Chicken but to those people I cry FOUL! Yes, the Chicken did indeed cross the road, but at the end of the day, he wanted (for whatever private, personal reason) to get to the other side. I want to get to the other side. I want to move on and I can do that by taking control of who I choose to walk hand in hand with, walk towards or walk away from.

I have no desire to insult or snub others, but I do desire, wholeheartedly, to give myself the gift of peace and love. I have to choose me. Especially when their actions clearly show that my feelings are not being considered.

I'm getting back to me. I choose me.