My childhood home was immaculate... at a casual glance. Mirroring my family's modest but idyllic appearance, the dining table glistened from almost constant polishing. The bathroom sink, countertop, even the commode were spotless to the point of superfluousness.
But closer inspection revealed unkempt points of astonishing contrast: The food left between the gap in the expanded table; The complete disarray under the sink counter; The air freshener attached to its side that had collected so much grime as to be initially unrecognizable.
Now that I'm older, I find myself skipping over my own dusty corners like the unspoken thoughts among us, the hidden memories that never get discussed, resolved.
This is not unusual, these contradictory areas of inattention, these zones that have been declared free of clean. We all have some variation of them, emotional and physical. Some are large, while others are small. Some people have numerous little cubbies, while others put all treasures of disrepair into one large hideaway.
Feelings are no different. We are capable of keeping only so many sentiments at our forefront. Others must get relegated to a less visited portion of our mind. Still more are tucked away never to be thought of again.