The box is all that remains of our relationship. Ten years packed up and ready to take a trip down a memory lane we have driven by too many times.
Happy memories we must now let go of.
One by one I pack away the smiles, I recycle the kisses, I take off the tender memories I wrapped myself with to keep myself warm in the winter of your absence.
Every second seems to last an eternity, and it's only when all is packed that I realize just how little space ten years occupy. All our love vanished into thin air as if it was never truly there.
I tape the top shut, too worried I'll be tempted to peek into it. It's hard enough letting go without constant reminders of all those moments when you were mine.
When I laughed in your arms.
The bell rings. It's you, I know it before I even open the door.
You stand at the doorstep of what used to be your home, and now it feels like you are a stranger. We barely look each other in the eyes.
How can we, when there is nothing left behind but shattered love and endless arguments?
I hand you the box, and your fingers brush against my hand. It feels like the first time you held it, but I know it'll be the last.
The door closes behind you before I realize ten years have left by your side, and the house suddenly feels so empty.
There's nothing but me and the future in it now.