memories

I try to bury the remains as I walked beneath the huge mango tree in my backyard. It had grown old after all these years and I have grown accustomed to seeing it there. 
Standing tall with its beard and long hair ready to hug a child as soon as it sees one. But this child had become a man now. 
I had to bury these remains of my older damaged skull there. It would deteriorate the condition of the tree.
I had played there since I was nine years old. I have tried to fall asleep while the tree swayed its branches into giant monsters on my bedroom wall. I tried to ignore when it made a rustling sound and I loved it when it did, but only at daytime. 
I was scared of the dark. I am not anymore. I let go of the fear when I realised good things happen in the dark. Like sleep. Dreams. How happy they made me. 
I tried to ignore when I woke up screaming after having dreamt of a snake attacking me. I don't ignore it anymore. I know it's a good sign. But I was nine years old. I learned then that dreams have two sides too. One meaningful and the other bizarre.
I looked up at the tree and saw the hole in which I used to put secret things of mine like the broken comb that was too toothless to use. Maybe it needed dentures. And the blunt nailcutter that my mother threw away and I retrieved from the garbage can because I had a problem with letting things go. 
The gifts I left myself in that hole, like Boo Radley did for Scout and Jem. My only friend. I didn't bury anything that night. Those memories were too heavy to let go. I guess I still have to learn.