Moving time.

I grab myself some boxes, a fresh marker with just the right kind of scent, and ambition.

I start with a big box and label it, ‘Things For Later.’

Into it go

My hands,

My arms,

My legs,

My ping-pong paddle,

My fingers,

My toes.

Next I grab another box and label it, ‘Breakables’.

In goes

My spirit,

My attitude,

My time,

My glass golf ball,

My self.

Another box, label it, ‘Useless’, ‘cause I’m a pack rat.

In goes

My brain,

My thoughts,

My old shoes,

My ideas,

My photographs,

My reminiscing.

I grab a box, label it, ‘Love’.

In goes,

Your picture,

Your laugh,

Your smile,

Your favorite glass,

Your best look,

And I toss it into the fire, because no one wants to see those every day.

A rather small box, label it, ‘Broken’

In goes

My heart,

My delusions,

My vision,

My antique marbles,

My soul,

My favorite memories.

I grab a box, label it, ‘For Later’

In goes…damn it, where’s my mind?

I seem to have lost it.

I shrug, look at all the work I’ve done, and decide to sit back and rest. Tomorrow I’ll call a friend to help, but for now I’ll just piece together the shattered days.

No glue necessary.