A/N: Another one where you can decide who is talking.


Shoebox

It doesn't seem right that a portion of your life is able to fit so nice and neatly into a shoebox. One that is tucked away in a closet or placed on a shelf....maybe to be pulled out and looked at when memories tug at your mind, demanding attention. Their cries are silenced by time and you forget about the box; pushing it into a corner, into the dark, where it collects cobwebs….silently waiting for the day it will see the light again.

And maybe, after many years, you stumble across that box again. Memories and feelings are resurrected from their once long dormant state.

A card from a Christmas long past.

A necklace you bought because it reminded you of me.

Little notes we left on one another's desks.

A small origami crane you made out of a foil mint wrapper.

Countless other little things occupy space. I don't know why I torture myself like this. Looking through this box brings up sad feelings along with the happy ones.

I wonder if you ever think of me anymore. It's been years, and this is all I have left of you.

But I can't be content with memories anymore.

Somehow I eventually find myself outside your door, box under my arm.