The containers of my past
You asked a question
And opened a box
Maybe you thought it was this one in front
Or somewhere in the middle
At least, that was my impression.
Turns out you chose the dusty one in back
I try to forget about it
Ignoring even when I organize and tidy.
Which says something.

But you opened it
I even helped you peel off the packing tape.
I showed you the contents
Couldn’t stop ripping away the layers of newspaper.

Now I’m standing here
And the box isn’t packing back into the corner.
You know the feeling
That you have no idea how so many pieces used to fit
In this tiny space.


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