Ghost town

As I look at the shoe box hidden under my bed, I wounder, how absurd it is to try to tuck someone's entire existence in such a small space.
How could all the memories fit there, all the thoughts and late night conversations,
All the fears, the nicknames, the inside jokes,
And the secret codes.
They are just ink on paper now.
They're just soft whispers that I barely remember,
They're nothing but remnants of a dead body of the love that we murdered.
I don't dare glance or stare at it,
This box,
Is the monster under my bed.
This box,
Is the voices in my head.
Of maybes and what ifs,
Of what could've been said or done.
Of the words we couldn't say,
And the things we shouldn't have said.
And still, I wonder,
Will I ever be while again ?
Will I ever have the heart to erase your memory,
And create myself again,
Apart from you.
Will I ever stop searching for myself between your words ?
I can't be the only one living like this,
I don't wish this pain to anyone,
Not even you.
But I wonder,
Do you speak of me to strangers and the new friends you make ?
Do you think of me as you stroll through the streets we once passed ?
Do I cross your mind like a distant memory that's still new ?
What shade of me do you remember?
Does the sound of my voice tickles your ears or the memory of the way I traced my fingers on your spine still make you shiver ?

It's time to throw this box away.