It's been two months and the box with my name on it still remains untouched.
I guess I'm terrified as to what is in the box,
Or maybe after I open it, there's nothing left of you. Nothing new because you're gone.
And I can't fucking take that.
But it's been two months, and I need to open it.
There was a reason I have this, and the reason isn't for it to sit on the floor collecting dust.
Taking in a shaky breath, I kneel down beside it and open it.
This is for you Jane.
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YOU ARE READING
Ribbons
PoetryA story about a broken girl who wears ribbons and a boy who tries to pick up the pieces