the boxes

whatever you made up in your head is of your own doing. i did nothing. i stood there and watched it all happen. you stand aside and make up little stories in your head of what i may have done to you if we'd hung around just a few minutes longer. if i had hung around some more, maybe id rip the wallpaper into little bits. yeah, maybe id'a done it, and because of that you'll get angry. angry over something that never came to be. and one day, when you move out, youll have no memories of me because i left nothing behind. but if we close our eyes and think hard, we can lie and pretend i did. we can say that i ruined your little ounce of hope in the female race. and when you pack everything up, all those little items, i'll be going in those boxes with them. not because i even ever existed, but only because you believed that i did and therefore, i'm a part of those memories. i belong in all those boxes according to you. i will travel with you always.

you and all those things you;ve kept close. you'll never let them go and you'll never let me go. i go where your belongings go; i belong to you still, in your mind. even if you believe i belong in a cage, i'm still there and i know you will never ever let me go. you will never let go of a meaningless grudge.