hadn't been looking for it. I was going for a shirt. I hadn't worn one in a
long time but as reached for the shirt, there was the other. It hung there,
beautiful, insolent and taunting. It had been bought in the days, those brief
days, when money was easy.
Money had ebbed and flowed but it had
its own consistency. It always came back. Like a dog. I laughed. Yes, like a
It hadn't been back for a while. For me,
money was a stray. I wished it had got lost and missed me, waiting to be
reunited. Waiting to come running back to me but deep down I knew it had found
someone else. It was done with me.
Yet it hadn't left me completely. It had
left a memento, a silky skin, shed a long time ago. And there it hung in my
wardrobe. Languid in its form but real. Truthful.
That silk dressing gown had been there
three years. I wanted it, craved it but i daren't touch it. Wear it. It was too
good for me. And it knew it.
dared myself to touch the sleeve. I raised my hand, index and middle finger
reaching out, expecting the smooth connection. At the last moment I pulled
back, withdrawing as if from fire.
Who was I to touch this beautiful
garment. It was mine. I owned it. I payed for it. It lived in my wardrobe. Yet
I felt unworthy. It came from a place and time when I was a real man. When I
could eat when I felt like it. When I dictated the hunger in me. When I
controlled my body and its demands. When I was in control. Control.
It came from a time and place when I
earned. When I earned my position in life. When I earned self
But those days were gone and all I had
left was this silken robe. This extravagance that sang softly to me from behind
its wooden gaol. How could I bring it out, wear it? Expose it to my
No, it must remain where it is,
untarnished, untouched, untainted. It must never brush against my unwashed
skin. It must remain unsoiled. Perfect. A symbol of my past success. It must
As I must remain.