I opened the hall closet and pulled an orange box from the top shelf...
in there was your yellow sunglasses I almost broke so you told me to keep them,
the two birthday cards you got me this year because "just one isn't enough,"
receipt from places we went, brochures from places we wanted to visit,
a picture you drew me on old notebook paper,
a tennis ball we stole from our favorite park,
an envelope with my name on it,
32 pictures of you and I, when my eyes still had life in them.

I took everything out, and put it on a table.
I realized things that used to mean everything, now mean nothing

*And I cried

and cried

and cried