You left me,
alone here,
holding onto this satin covered box,
half-full of half-memories,
a tilted ballerina with a wonky spring.
Objects soaked in meaning.
Letters wrapped in ribbon.
Polaroids and pendants.
A broken chain.
An envelope of anger.
A sachet filled with sorrow.
All coated in a light dusting of unbearable pain.

This half-empty box is too god-damn heavy.

Somehow,
you took with you,
all of our secrets.
But left me,
alone here,
to carry our shame.