I have a photo of you & I. It's gathering dust on my dresser, face down. I picked it up a few days ago, I blew off the dust and I stared. I just stared.
Slowly, I let myself look at you. So much taller than me. (But who isn't? Let's be honest here.) It was before my life went crazy, and I didn't know how to make it right again. I still don't know how.
Then you disappeared, for a while.
Now you're in my life again, and I'm a mess. I'm a different girl who's just trying to pick up the pieces of her life that don't quite fit together anymore. (I don't know if they ever fit in the first place.) I'm shoving all the pieces into my box.
I feel like my world will explode on the first wrong step I take. So many cracks are in sight, it's a wonder it hasn't exploded already.
I packed up my heart in bubble wrap, and slid it into the box that holds the crooked pieces of my life.
I'm trying to be careful. I'm trying to be cautious, carrying around the box that holds my heart, carrying it high above my head. No one can look at it. No one can open it.
It makes me wonder why I let you have it in the first place.
And why I didn't fight harder to get it back.
Here's news for you: You won't lay hands on it ever again. This time I locked it up, and I swallowed the key. You'll never see it again. (Stop asking.)
And the picture of us? It's in the box, too.
