life in a box.

they lie side by side
under the cover
s
there is dust
thick grey dust covering
the lid
of my memory box.
those letters
written by friends, lovers,
my mother and my father
my sisters
and my grandparents.
i read and the words help me recall
the times when those letters were written.
and it's sweet and it's bitter and it's beauty and it's painful
and it's all life.
it's my life in a box.

i can almost smell how much i have grown between the first layer of dust
and the one sticking to my fingers
now.
i gratefully throw letters away,
i can feel my shoulders lighten instantly. so many words. so much paper.
who will ever read them again?
but some i will keep.
like the one when my mother tried to reach out to me
during puberty
trying to be there for me
but i didn't listen
couldn't listen
cuz my mind was too loud
 keeping me busy with negative thoughts
and self-hatred. i have those letters too. diary entrances that make my heart wince at
how i was talking to myself back then. some of them desperate.

and i will keep all those cards from my grandparents. because i can tell their health status by the way my name is written on each envelope. how steady becomes shaky  becomes computerized letters
still full of love.
full.
my life is full. and this box...
 this box is my library.