Still in the closet

You found it while organizing.

The space where you keep things

you can't decide about.

You held it.

The weight was familiar.

Your hands knew the shape.

You remembered exactly why you kept it.

Why you couldn't throw it away

when you threw away everything else—

the photos, the letters, the small things

that proved it happened.

But this one thing,

smooth from your hands,

or pristine from never being used,

this one thing stayed.

You could throw it away now.

You've had time.

You're supposed to have moved on.

You put it back where it was.

Closed the closet door.