First keys

The closet door creaks like a tired spine,

cobwebs clutch the corners like forgotten promises.

Scuffed floorboards tell stories —

a soft thump, a long night pacing,

coffee stains bleeding into faded carpet.

I found an old receipt folded tight,

yellowed by time and dirt,

slipped between cracked floorboards,

forgotten rent, last-minute splurges,

a life budgeted on hope and cheap dinners.

The hollow knock of this empty room

feels louder than any crowd.

This place was mine —

yet the walls hum with absence,

keys jangling in my palm,

lost long ago in the space between youth and now.