Almanac of Ache
The box sits where it always sat
In a half open drawer by my bed
I dare not touch it
Dare not stare
That box is my almanac of ache.
Pretty cards, precious stones
Photographs of laughter
A coaster from the pub
Reminders of loss
Fill my almanac of ache.
It used to be my treasure chest
A box of love and joy
It used to be my heart
It used to be
It is but a coffin for my happiness.
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