Waste Not, Want Not

A crumpled note in the bottom of the bin,

words like ghosts haunt the silence within.

Smudged ink holds secrets, faded yet dear,

a captured moment that lingers near.

I fished it out, guilt prickling my skin,

the weight of the past, heavy, akin.

To what we discard, yet wish to reclaim,

it sings of a loss that echoes the same.