Returned Things

I stood at your door, the weight in my hand,

a sweater, too soft, too tangled to stand.

Wrapped in the memories we thought we would keep,

but some things are better to bury, to sweep.

The door creaked open, and I felt the old pull,

a heart left behind, it still aches, it still dulls.

With each passing moment, I could hear us say,

words that now echo, lost in yesterday.

“Here,” I whispered, “this belonged to you,”

and I turned to the street, feeling somehow brand new.

Last acknowledgments float, like dust in the air,

a thing that is given, but the love, it’s still there.