Ghosts in My Closet

Tonight, 

I opened my oldest, dustiest closet.

And liberated myself.

I pulled it open and ghosts flew out of the door.

I realized, I had a collection of rotten things.

Old colorful arts and crafts.

Heaps of old and long letters.

Tattered notebooks messed up to the last page.

And lots of photos.

Everything looked well-preserved,

but smelled of rat's pee.

I grabbed all those that came from him,

and reluctantly remembered.

I ripped every memory - 

teared every word,

every face, every drawing,

 until it felt good.

I then pushed the pieces 

down the plastic bag with my foot,

pushed them until it almost burst,

then tied it with a rope twice.

There.

It's ready for the garbage truck.

No more ghosts.

No more rotten things.
No more traces of him.

And there's now space

for something new

and way better.

Remnants

Remnants.

I am still haunted by the remnants of our memories,

infested by their dusts latching on to my skin,

and blemished by the scabs and scars of my old wounds.

I have been refusing to remember you,

but your image is a fact hidden in my subconscious,

and a glaring truth in my dreams at night.

And now I have to face the remnants,

the pieces of what used to be and will never be,

wisps of the smoke of joys and sorrows,

and a speck of what once was a true love.

Remnants, which I am glad that just are,

for I know that soon,

these dusts will be blown away,
the scars will solely be patches that'll add to my beauty,

and the memories will fade like colors in photographs.

I am sure that soon,
my heart will be again clean and new

for a kind of love that will stay whole forever.