Evidence

we fit into a box.
we are old letters, faded
ticket stubs,
looks with messy writing in the
margins.
we are christmas cards with misspelled
notes and envelopes torn, stamps
peeling.
we are a necklace, a bit tarnished,
weaker than the cheap chain
with its tiny links.
we are no longer anything but
souvenirs and memories.
we are covered with dust and
placed high on a shelf in
the closet, behind the blankets
and old magazines just waiting
to be thought of for the final
time.

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