The room reflected his mind – chaotic, broken, distressed.
It felt good, the first time he toppled something over. It felt good the second time he threw something against the wall. It became a habit when he pushed over the table. It was a release against all that he held back.
He cleaned up after the storm. As he picked up the pieces of the aftermath – he also cleared out the clutter that stayed around for years. Wiped up the floor with his right, and mopped up his eyes with his left.
He sat on his bed and surveyed his room. It was clean. It was neat.
His mind was calm, and he felt good about it. It was quiet, it was peaceful.
It was temporary – as he very well knew.