There's a box sitting in my living room.
I have stared at it, but I am reluctant to open it.
It's been there a few days now.
I think I know what's in it.
I expect to find photos, cards, letters, books.
Maybe trinkets, and an item of clothing or two.
It's what's leftover from life.
It's full of memories of a life well lived,
of laughter and sadness and times gone by.
I am hoping it's full of love.
One day soon I will open it and remember.
But not today.