What am I supposed to do
with these thoughts of you?
They stack up like old receipts,
faded,
yet I can’t bring myself
to throw them away.
I tuck them into corners,
forget about them for a while,
until they spill out again,
crinkled memories
of things that were never claimed.
I thought they’d lose their weight,
become easier to let go,
but they linger,
quiet,
unfiled,
always there.
