1 min read

isn’t that what drawers are for?
housing trivial objects you crammed in,
and forgot about.
the coffee-stained kerchief, the ticket stub
from the first date.
things of no value now,
yet you can’t seem to throw away,
these pieces that were once a part of you.
you hope, days or maybe years from now,
when you’re dying to feel something,
that they’ll be there.
the half-used lipstick,
the coupons for those chuck taylors.
things that once were your happiness.
you hope they’ll be there,
and when you put your hand in and rummage,
that the picture of a home now forgotten,
will make you weep.
and finally, you’ll feel something again,
a wave that fills you up, then empties you.
isn’t that what drawers are for?

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