Things in a tall stack
That were neat and nicely wrapped
Soft ribbons that curled
Gradually her boxed emotions begin to unfurl
Bits and pieces of some time ago
That she thought she’d let go
Maybe swept under the rug among the dust bunnies
Hidden, but not forgotten.
The pieces are starting to fit together
Memories, experiences, conversations, situations—
Molded her, shaped her.
And were set aside in shiny, perfect packages.
She can’t let go. She hoards them all.
And there she sits, surrounded by gifts she’s afraid to open.
Not knowing which to open first, what will be inside…
But knowing that she has to act in order to survive.
Do you think we can ever truly let go of things? What does letting go even mean? Is letting go the same as “forgive & forget?” If we forgive, do we have to forget? CAN we forget?