I kept a lot of old junk around.
I'm wondering if that's why you were in my life for so long.
Some days I find myself rummaging through thrift store bins
Hoping, praying, that maybe I'll find something of value.
Instead I'm left with distressed promises and ripped up hopes.
Tattered. Destroyed. Unrecognizable.
Here we are.
Shopping amongst a worn down Goodwill with worn down faces.
Looking for each other in stranger's old garbage.
Hoping to find a piece of ourselves within these past artifacts:
You know the ones.
The ones they threw away so easily.
The ones that will never return to their original owners.
The ones that self diagnose nostalgia.
I should've dropped you off in that donation bin long ago.
I'm sorry I let you stay in my life for as long as you did.
Word of advice:
I hope your new owner gets you dry cleaned.
Wouldn't want the memory of me contaminating her new "prized possession."
