Welcome.
I'm the one they left behind.
An alter ego of sorts—
just the keeper, the inventory clerk,
interim ghost.
New items arrive every day—
spat out from my boss's pockets,
sometimes still wet, still ticking.
I stack them in corners.
I don't ask where they've been.
This way, please:
to the Room of Poorly Considered Promises—
frayed friendship bracelets, a mixtape of second thoughts,
a half-cooked wishbone...
Continue reading...