A little maroon box labeled, “Positivity”
Little bits of paper
Different handwriting and different addressers,
but all the same addressee: me
Folded, torn, creased
They’re not in great condition,
but I like to keep them.
One I’ve had since I was eight.
Another since twelve
The rest expanding from fourteen to now.
I like to remember the ordinary
Little glances into the year
Friends and smiles and tears
And it’s a shame that most are gone
since I was mad.