I recently found a box of things. More specifically, a box of your things. It was under my bed, hidden in darkness and dust. Just by looking at it, I knew what was inside. Your hat. Your beanie. Your book. The bracelet you made me when you volunteered at the hospital. A note that I was suppose to burn. A drawing that we drew. A movie ticket stub. And your keychain.
Then I realized, these things were never hidden in darkness. I knew exactly what was in this box without even opening it up. These things were floating around in my head, waiting for some memory trigger to bring me right back to you.I still haven’t opened it.
Damn this box.
But it’s not like I’m going to throw it away.