When you throw your old bathrobe away, a part of your past vanishes down the chute with a goodbye-“fluff.”
That old friend smelled like you; soothing you and your lover; encouraging baths to wash away dead skin. Remember? It was pearly white when you bought it at a place and time that are distant now.
If only the robe could talk about things that filled your mind and mouth at a thousand breakfasts; all fleeting, and with some dreams resting as dreams.
Don’t worry; there will be unknown places with robes to hang.
Seasons come and go, and traffic lights change, until you drop and swap your robe for something Lighter.
Kambiz Naficy
