worn to bare wood
the box lid fell open
from my fingers
old letters, ripped envelopes
broken jewelry
faded photographs
from a past
I refuse
to let go of
history inked on lines
one side conversations
with the soul
I didn’t ask enough questions
didn’t think to wonder
didn’t let fear have a foot hold
until it was too late
a ring falls out
when the box tipped
hidden under the shower
of paper and other nonsense
still fits as if it were meant
for this finger
but it was never mine to wear
was it.


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