There's a locked box sitting in my closet.
It's decorated with pictures of us
and all the people we've ever
wanted to be. Written in scratchy
letters and tear stained ink
are your very best quotes.

As much as I love that box itself
I think you should know what
is dying inside the belly of
that beautiful beast. All the
nicknames unwhispered
between the protection of
night and warm sheets
gone unsaid -

unheard

for so long.

The promises unkept
and shattered dreams.
Scenarios and lyrics
you recited in my dreams
as comfort are lingering -
caught in silky
spider webs.

Guitar picks and letters, pencil drawings and
a colorful ring. And at the very bottom
of that sad, lonely box, folded sweetly,
tucked safely beneath everything
else my soul weeps. Withering
away as it promises to

be better

in its next life.