I’m a hoarder
I keep letters of sorrow and happiness,
Getting high off of borrowed moments from the past that I know won’t last.
My tolerance will grow,
And I won’t get the same high that I now know.
But I keep them anyway, all the momentos from my childhood that cling on to the last hope I carry in my heart from times that were better.
Letter by letter I read them and try not to realize what I’ve lost,
But instead realize what I had.
And even though it’s not the same as it was before the memories bring a smile to my face that I try to keep as long as I can before it melts into a much more depressed state.
Because you can’t think about what you’ve had before without realizing what you lost as well, they’re hand in hand.
I don’t want to be a hoarder anymore.