all the things you surround yourself with sit and gather dust
the landscape of your past
shadows, icons, only that.

a room full of objects
but empty of meaning
the ins and outs of your life as if on display
but in fact, no,
they are hidden away.

the energy that once filled these shells is long gone
without this,
their relevance, their spirits moved on.

sometime ago you acquired that book,
that candle,
that objet d’art
and you thought “look at this”
and you thought “this is me”
and you kept it.
And through it, you kept yourself,
frozen,
and apart.