Fridge-bound fragments

A wrinkled note, taped crooked,

edges peeling like old skin.

I pull at the curl—fingers unsure

if it should be saved or left to fade.

The handwriting tight, a hurried scrawl,

an apology half-hidden beneath a magnet’s weight.

Dinner’s forgotten,

the fridge hums low,

and the paper, yellowed, presses its quiet claim

against cold metal and time.

Words stuck fast

like old gum under a shoe,

dragged along, never quite released.