there were moments of yesterdays that she'd gathered up
to keep in a box for a handful of tomorrows
when she knew that nothing would feel the same.
but what's the use of reliving the past, she said
when it just shines light on discrepancies
and brokenness.

but the box remained with its memories of
dustbunnies and treasures from a life
long forgotten far after her eyes had closed
and her heart had too. memories of
the hopes and dreams of her life of reality
trapped by so much misunderstanding--
a beat up cross made of burnt matches and a
map of the world she'd hoped to conquer.
a collection of curiosities--an homage to
middle school gossip and high school romances
that could never be retold.
a folder full of time-wrinkled paper--piano music
and poetry and smudged ink of
tear-stained letters that had never been sent.

but you can't relive the past she'd always said.
you only live it once and then move on
in baby steps or bounds--
but you always move on.

and after all what good is this box of immortality
if no one ever knew the girl inside?

05/17/2005

Posted on 05/18/2005
Copyright © 2024 Kate Swearingen