I once read somewhere that the mind can forget many things, whether we will it or not. But somehow, our senses will always betray us.
I want my senses to betray me. Maybe that's why I walked in a daze today when I realized I can't smell my Mum in the clothes she left hanging in her closet. I never threw it out. Maybe I should, I'm aware of that. But her clothes in the closet is my last connection to the past, back when things were alright. I touched her clothes today, buried my head amongst the silks and cotton, but her scent is gone. I cannot smell her.
Sometimes, I catch myself listening to people breathing too. Automatic thing, breathing. Everytime I hear anybody inhaling, exhaling nearby, I try to match it with the way my Dad breathes. His breath had always been a little too fast, a little wheezy, due to the heart problem. I keep listening, but they're always too slow, or way too fast, too shallow, or too quiet. I try to listen, everyday, but I cannot hear him anymore either.
I know I can't see them anymore. My eyes can never betray me. Nor will I ever be able to touch them, not their hands, never their hair. So my skin cannot betray me either.
But it's another world of sorrow away, when even sound and smell is robbed from you. It's like operating blind, deaf as stone, numb as ice, scentless as chamber gas... and perhaps just as lethal.
Oh, call it pre-birthday existential jitters. But I really don't understand this yet, this world without them. I'm grasping at straws, clueless as a newborn torn away from the womb. People assume I have got it figured out by now, but I don't. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever meant to, or if there is anything to understand.