I found the old key in the drawer

I found the old key in the drawer,

its surface still warm,

a faint echo of turning—

a small brass reminder

of rooms filled with laughter,

of corners that held secrets,

like shadows caught in a moment,

a light that was once everything.

Packing boxes, I felt the weight

of dust and decisions,

each item a story, a ghost

settled in familiar places.

But the walls now speak in echoes,

empty as a folded paper crane,

a reminder of things once whole—

the key no longer fits.

I clutch it, let it linger,

though I know there’s nothing left,

a house once my heart, now a shell,

a doorway grown cold,

a landscape of loss and longing,

as I turn away.