After he had left
I looked around the bright,
Sunny space
he had given up, and
I looked at the mess
he had left behind
Some of my
most important things
were smashed,
and some of his
most valuable items
were abandoned.
So I slowly started
to pick it all up.
It was too much to hold.
So then I began to
throw some stuff in the trash
that I knew
I didn’t want
anymore.
I made a pile of his things
and I would,
every now and then,
go upset
the mound of it
and yell.
I’d yell
and yell
as I righted it
again,
too.
I began to try
and salvage
some of my things.
Just when I thought
they were fixed,
they’d crumble
in my hands.
This, too,
would make me angry
because angry was easier
than sad.
I would go to throw out
all that was broken
and then would stop,
not wanting to believe
they had to go.
It would just need time.
Then I could fix it.
Sometimes,
I would take
one or two items
from his pile and
bring them to him
to see if
he wanted them.
He would shrug
and say, thanks.
But when I would go to leave
I would notice
they were back
with me
Instead.
And time and again,
I would try to deliver
some of the things again,
not giving up,
and always would
return home with them.
He knew they were here.
One day,
quiet and thoughtful,
I decided to try one more go
at fixing my very important
and broken things.
I patiently fitted pieces.
I looked at what was coming together
and would make small adjustments.
Then I saw
what would no longer fit
and put those aside.
Over time,
what I created
was something new.
It wasn’t the
important
original thing
and, looking at it,
it wasn’t
all together
unfamiliar to me.
It wasn’t what I expected
nor what I was used to.
It was here,
though,
in my hands.
In front of me.
And so I kept it.
