The prompt at NaPoWriMo for today was:
I'm laying in corpse pose on my yoga mat. There's a candle to my left, beacon for long-repressed memories. Overhead, a chandalier tinkles as if toyed with by ghostly fingers. I'm head-to-head level with the secrets nestled behind the sofa. I almost wonder if a piece of my heart might be found there among the dust, or at least the white-gold wedding band from my first (and only, thus far) marriage. I can barely remember the cold-metal hug it gave my finger but I'm sure in a journal somewhere in a box behind a shelf there's written a lengthy explanation of its absense. I've lost plenty of important thngs...a notebook full of last years poetry, though I've all but forgotten what was written. And a pair of earrings from my last romantic relationship, which was really merely a rendezvious of cabin rentals and condos and beaches where the sand probably remembers my former self better than I. And how, somewhere before yesterday, I lost myself between mirror-glass and an intellectual clumbsiness too cruel to pardon.