Basement Transcendence

Sometimes, the only way to change is to destroy something.

I have lived here too long - all the while deluding myself that I had finally settled, that somehow life had plateaus where I could just set cruise control. Then detritus started piling up. First it filled the basement, then it began to overflow into the main floor, then finally my bedroom succumbed as well. So much history filled the place. Every scrap stained with just enough nostalgia to make me hesitate. I'll keep it just a bit longer.

That misplaced need weighed me down like an anchor.

Then, the breaking point. It's a blur of memory, soaked in sweat, showered in broken glass, deafened by gunshots. I stared at bright red flecks scattered across the floor, the furniture. Finally, I had removed that lingering lie of perceived value. I hauled everything out into the open, an ugly pile. But soon, soon, it would be gone forever.

Little more than a shell was left behind, but at last I was free of it.

Now I can move on.