Hard to believe how much I’ve gathered
just because it was there—
a drawer full of keys to locks long gone,
shoes I never wore,
blankets for guests who never came.
Sometimes I think I’d trade it all
for a patch of sun
and an empty grass.
No shelves, no screen, no urgent blinking light.
Just wind in the trees
and the sound that follows
when no one is trying to tell you anything.
One day I’ll leave it all behind,
quietly, like stepping out of a room.
No receipt. No forwarding address.
Just a small corner of sky
and a grass that belongs to me.
