from forever ago
Stuffed down amongst many random objects, locked away in a drawer that only collects dust, in a room that I never walk into anymore — there’s you.
You from our naive days, You from our cross-pacific, late night early morning calls, You from when we believed there was an us.
Of course, ‘you’, as a living breathing being, is not here. But the Cotton-on labeled, crumpled flannel still sits in that drawer.
this prompt was: Write about someone using only the objects they left behind
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