The belt

The snake

You cross out.
The god who brings perfumes to flowers, hates tachas. They shine too proudly for something that is not useful, he says. I tell him that I like them and I will find a use for them one day, so I open them to release them from that insult to leather.
It's hard, they're small and many. Time is pressing, I haven't eaten dinner and it's already midnight.
I decide to use the scissors and cut the cheap leather to release them more easily. Faster. More efficiently.
The old belt twists in my hands like a snake as I tear it apart and throw away the pieces that don't work.
"They're no good."

I could have donated the belt, someone could have used it... No. I tell myself that it was in bad condition and I have set aside a lot to donate, including a higher quality belt.
But it's not a belt anymore. Now in my hands I have a snake and the chunks of leather in the trash can are flesh and muscle.
Speed up the process, increase efficiency.
I feel like a person who kills rhinos for their ivory. Fast and efficient.
Someone could have used this belt. Somebody needed it.
And while I keep cutting, saying that there is no turning back anyway, I wonder if that's how it feels. If that's how it feels to cut off the ivory from a dying rhinoceros, if that's how it feels to kill a snake to rip off its skin knowing you don't need it. That yes, that you might turn it into something else one day, maybe even money, but you don't need it. Not now, not now. The snake needed his skin.
Someone, maybe, needed this belt.
And there's no turning back now.

I know, this is very different from what I usually upload but that's because these words were originally born as a facebook state. It was a very personal and stupidly dramatic experience, but I found the thought interesting and wanted to share it a little further.