I know what I am – A Hoarder.
A hoarder of humans and emotions. I’m the person who can, perhaps, never understand what “No strings attached” means. Strings? Oh, I LOVE strings. Weave me a web of these strings and I’d lose myself in them, cloud my judgement, turn blind and yet, find happiness.
I’m a deep, deep, dark, bottomless pit. I want to save every memory, every emotion and if it were physically possible – Every person. If I could, I’d hoard all those people who’ve ever depicted glimpse of care, concern, love and empathy towards me, in my bottomless pit. That guy who brushed my hair off my face with his gentle touch, the guy who felt like sunshine on a cold day, the best friend who stayed up talking to me all night long, the mother who was proud of me… All of them, now, occupy a permanent space.
Evidently, I carry baggage. A LOT of baggage. I go from one relationship to another hogging these memories, turning them into some sort of collectibles. A private collector, that’s what I am. I unlock my collection, revel in the memories and store them precisely the way they were – pristine, untouched and hidden. Some memories, so tempting and dangerous. Those are my favourites, my so called ‘guilty pleasures’.
I could be a maleficent human, hidden beneath a surface of hair flips and smiles, almond eyes and bangs. Or may be, just maybe, I’m a love hungry soul. Not desperate for attention but just love hungry – Like a little pup.
All I ask for are the strings. Give me the strings and become a part of me, of my treacherous memory box. Tangle me in your web of emotional strings or push me down a valley of false hopes and dream. I need my collection to validate me.
My collection. That’s what makes me a Hoarder.
PS – My inspiration: My best friend/twin soul.