i'm putting things into boxes
moving books and scraps of my life
that haven't see much light,
only steady piles of gathering dust.
time is moving through my mind
like nostalgia always does -
nostos
to return home
algos
to ache
and that's the point.
i'm putting things into boxes
moving away from this life and toward
another. when i come back,
it won't be to the same room
or even to the same space.
everything will have a different color and shape.
all filtered through different
lenses, my life churned over
in minds that are not my own.
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