This paper shopping bag
of driftwood
No one knows what it means
except me
So I place it on the flames
and I feel the pain
I am burdened
with your memory
I am the only witness
to most of your life
I am burdened
with your legacy
Your things
Your habits
The parts of your life
you did not like.
The records of your struggle
with your health
The photos of yourself
you hated
I am burdened by my need
to create a capsule of you.
The truly beautiful girl who loved me.

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