Post-Trauma-Attic Stress

welcome to the post trauma attic, a place where all is well, a place where everything is Copastetic, before the castle fell, there was a time long ago, where I had felt safe and pure, now this attic is full of boxes, what is what? I'm not even sure, in one is a child so happy, innocent, and free, and that box over there has all the trusting parts of me, there are boxes of imagination, now packed up and sealed tight, they been up here collecting dust, since the storm came through that night, there are boxes with your pictures, I wish I could just erase, but, this is the post trauma attic, a time before feelings got debased, there are boxes of wishes, hopes, and dreams, that now won't ever come true, and there is a box over there with memories of you, I avoid your box entirely, pretending it doesn't exist, I rummage through them carefully, trying to find the box, with parts of me, i miss!