A Box of Your Things

I’ve never been better
Really
And the pain doesn’t ache
With the tears
Or hugging myself to sleep
No not like that anymore
I’ve moved it into a fresh box
In the attic
There’s no dust on its lid
Because sometimes I like to go up and look inside
Everyday I think
It’s right there in the attic
And I know that in time
I won’t think about it like I am now
And eventually I’ll move out of this house
I’ll sell it at a yard sale for a quarter
A stranger will buy it
And I’ll think
Oh right I used to love this thing
But I’m finished now

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