In my attic i have boxes
Baggage of words left unsaid
Stories missing their ending
Because I don't know where it would have led.

But the attic is overflowing
Suddenly boxes fill my room
The kitchen
The counters
My mind
They all consume.

But then one day i begin to speak aloud
A box full of memories with people i lost
After i found
Some i reach out to
But not to begin again.

I unpack the boxes
i put down my pen
I hand out these gifts
No tears left in sight
All these words that i've written at the time
Felt right.

Some boxes i burn
Some I don't even dare to open
Because i don't need to
Remember the times when I was most broken.

Slowly and kindly i tear boxes down
Bags suddenly empty
I folat where i used to drown
Its peaceful within me
i make space for something more
And then the attic is empty—

Or i guess full
Of what I adore.

By Emma Swanson