things i still keep, for some reason

Mar 08, 2025

(i wrote this after finishing my last essay)

i like to imagine a box in the back of my head,

like a box you keep in an attic or storage,

with everything i don’t like remembering piled inside.

things i literally have no use for anymore:

where she lived, her landline phone number (even though we haven’t spoken in a decade),

all the stuff we loved together, that when i see it again i feel this weird pang inside —

not because i miss her, but because i wish i could detangle it from her altogether, i don’t like letting her steal enjoyment from me;

the feeling of thinking i was wanted for the first time,

so i ignored my intuition, the voice in my head saying is this really worth it?

and chased the hunger i didn’t know i had —

the hunger for electricity, a warm body, a heart —

only to be left starving and empty;

the time i wasted on hoping against hope only to come crashing down,

feeling worthless, feeling like i’m faking, feeling shame, feeling less.

i want to throw it away, never see it again,

make room for other things, things i want — and it’s still sitting there in that box,

covered in dust untouched, taking up space, blocking the light that wants to flood in,

and for what?

emmy etc.