There’s a box full of reminders of the memories.
It was a beautiful day, but it wasn’t my day.
There’s a box full of the money spent.
White dress I hated and makeup caked on like I was auditioning for memoirs of a geisha.
There’s a box full of obligation but not hate.
It doesn’t taste like regret though.
Something blue, the guarder that was too small on thick thighs.
Something new, the white heels I loved but didn’t wear.
Something old, Aunt Pink’s pearls, she was smaller in the neck than I was.
There’s a box full of things that could have been, that should have been.
Fake flowers and mini chalk boards for the pics that didn’t come out like the Pinterest picture I wanted.
“Just married” leather jacket that was so fucking hot but the dress broke.
There’s a box full of wedding things that sits in my parent’s garage that hasn’t been opened and hasn’t been processed.
books, writings, shoes & nudes 