on a gloomy afternoon, my mother asked me what the boxes next to my desk were. i told her that they were just "things" and that she didn't need to touch them. she told me to throw them out, because boxes bring bugs. she didn't know that in those boxes was your shirt and the letters that were written beautifully in your handwriting. she didn't know that what was inside was a milestone in my life that i wasn't ready to let go of yet. i took the boxes and put them in my closet, shoving them behind my shoes and other things that were more important. i tried to hide them from my sight, because maybe i wouldn't feel so attached if they weren't in front of me. four days have passed, and i haven't opened the boxes since. i haven't ran my fingertips over your shirt and reread the letters that once were love notes. i haven't felt the need to be close to you. but four days later, it is still gloomy outside, and the boxes are still going to bring bugs. but i still will not throw them out.
arw