So many selfies.
Like still frames on the wall,
Enclosed within the cases of our phones,
Or the borders of our laptops.
But we don't relegate them to the attic once they're no longer useful,
no.
We send them to this virtual trash can,
We listen for the sound waves that indicate the crumpling of paper.

Like we want to delete our memories,
And forget that they existed.
It's different than the attic.
We can pull old photos from the attic,
Look back on them and reminisce.
We can't do that with a trash can.
We want to erase,
Delete.
We want to pretend like some things never happened.

But they did.
Why don't we treasure those memories?
Lock them away in our mental attic?
Take them out and look at them every now and then?
Or is it too painful?
Are we too wimpy for that?
Too afraid?
Afraid of emotion?
Pain?

Well too ******* bad.
Those things still happened.
And you can keep them in your basement if you like,
Collecting dust,
Or you can even delete them from your memory
(digital or mental),
But you can't delete them from existence.
And I,
Well I'll choose to treasure them instead.