Closets are like a disorganized biography that no one ever reads.

you said to check the closet for the boots
but i hadnt.
i wore running shoes instead.
and all the while thought in curiousity if they were there.
its not where i left them 2 months 1 week and 3 days ago.
against my better judgement i opened it.
like pandoras box greeted with haunting objects
whispering to be touched, to be read. to be taken out of hiding spaces
so carefully cluttered. each time becoming more antique
a day. a month. a year. 5 years.
and i promise each time to revisit them.
all the while knowing it is something past.
something sad.
and like always it brought it on again and i shuffled for hours
not looking for anythihng, just through. discarding none of the things
that reminded me so much
of how much of life
is over.
but i come to this five foot by two foot
enchanted nook. its mine.
i come to it and see how much of everything
has been lost.
and how much hasnt been replaced.
sit and read how lonely i was.
how frustrated.
i dont know why.
i have so much less now.
but i dont feel it because i dont have time.