There's this big box in my room, kinda pushed off to the side
And in it, there are all these random things
Things that i don't really have a place for in my room,
But which connect with some feeling that occupies a memory in my heart,
And I can't bare to get rid of.
I haven't really opened that box in years,
Except to throw in a few new things
But today, while looking for something,
I opened the box,
Placing its lid carefully on the carpet,
And emptying its contents one by one.
A lot of it, I don't know why I saved.
There are a bunch of tattered fliers for parties
Some which I went to, and some which i didnt.
Mixed in between are pictures,
So many pictures
And if i had enough time I would put them in order,
But the point is, they captured the images of people
I will never see again.
We took these pictures to remember these few moments,
Just to shove them into a box
And to say someday... maybe i miss them.
There are cards... birthday cards, valentines, postcards...
I picked and chose the ones to save,
And now reading the faded words inside of them
I remember how i felt opening them for the first time,
And the people who gave them to me.
My favorite will always be the birthday card i got on my seventeenth birthday
From my boyfriend at the time,
And i have opened that card and reread it so many times
That the words are barely there anymore,
And i still know what they say by heart.
There are envelopes from things that people sent me in the mail
And i dont know where their contents have fallen,
But most of them are empty,
Just like my promises were to write back to all those people.
There's old papers from my job
I don't know why i saved them
But even now, i wont get rid of them.
Now going through this box has become a thing of desperation,
because all i'm really looking for is a letter,
That danny left on my bed a long time ago,
After one of the first nights we spent together
I want to find it because i think it might be all i have left
Of how things once were,
And i'm desperate to read it again,
To absorb its words
To feel the way i did the day i found it on my bed...
And i cant find it amongst all these other things,
And it starts to frustrate and sadden me.
Now the search has moved from the box to the far corners of my room,
And after an hour of searching, that little paper is nowhere.
Its gone, just like all these feelings,
And i force myself not to cry at this...
Sometime later i come across a tiny heart-shaped box that i hadn't looked in,
And a tiny flicker of hope fills me
As i reach for the lid and open it,
Thinking with some miracle, it might be in there...
And there it is, neatly folded, under some bracelets and cut-up credit cards.
I open it, and i can feel the smile on my face,
And the writing is familiar....
but its not his.
And this is not what i was looking for at all.
This is a letter from justin, that i dont even remember.
No date.
How long has this been here?
And i know the reason i dont remember it,
Is because it is the first time i'm reading it.
Over 2 years ago, maybe longer,
He put this letter here, for me to find
And i never did, until just now.
My hands shake as i read it.
One tear falls to the page, smearing a word or two.
This is justin, telling me he's sorry... for everything.
For almost 3 years i waited just to hear those 2 words from him "I'm Sorry"
And i could have forgiven him for anything...
For everything.
For how badly he hurt me,
And still hurt me even every single day after he left... and never came back.
It wouldn't have mattered to me.
That's all i wanted was for him to regret what he did to me,
And to hear him say it...
And i never got that.
And now, here it was... right here in my hands.
Him, telling me that he never told me often enough what i meant to him,
And that i could be with some guy who treats me great,
But i'm with him instead,
And that i will always be this thing in his life
Which always means more than anything else.
Signing it the way he used to sign everything.
Forcing my mind to a place it hasn't gone in a long time,
At least, not since i met danny.
I went looking, searching, for these words to come from danny
And almost like a sign,
here they are from justin...
justin, who i havent seen in 2 years
who i havent spoken to, or heard from, in longer than i can recall.
justin....
i dont know whether to crumble the paper up or tear it into shreds...
i dont know whether to scream or laugh at the irony...
i dont know whether i'm more upset that i didnt find what i was looking for,
Or if i'm more upset that i didnt find this a long time ago.
but all i do is fold it back up neatly,
And put it back where i found it,
So it can collect 2 more years of dust
Everyone in my life who ever meant anything to me,
Was always sorry -- too late to matter
And that's all these words are ... just memories,
And they dont mean anything more to me now,
Than the crinkled fliers and the postcards.
They are just what used to be...
And they can just stay in those boxes, fading,
forever.
And in it, there are all these random things
Things that i don't really have a place for in my room,
But which connect with some feeling that occupies a memory in my heart,
And I can't bare to get rid of.
I haven't really opened that box in years,
Except to throw in a few new things
But today, while looking for something,
I opened the box,
Placing its lid carefully on the carpet,
And emptying its contents one by one.
A lot of it, I don't know why I saved.
There are a bunch of tattered fliers for parties
Some which I went to, and some which i didnt.
Mixed in between are pictures,
So many pictures
And if i had enough time I would put them in order,
But the point is, they captured the images of people
I will never see again.
We took these pictures to remember these few moments,
Just to shove them into a box
And to say someday... maybe i miss them.
There are cards... birthday cards, valentines, postcards...
I picked and chose the ones to save,
And now reading the faded words inside of them
I remember how i felt opening them for the first time,
And the people who gave them to me.
My favorite will always be the birthday card i got on my seventeenth birthday
From my boyfriend at the time,
And i have opened that card and reread it so many times
That the words are barely there anymore,
And i still know what they say by heart.
There are envelopes from things that people sent me in the mail
And i dont know where their contents have fallen,
But most of them are empty,
Just like my promises were to write back to all those people.
There's old papers from my job
I don't know why i saved them
But even now, i wont get rid of them.
Now going through this box has become a thing of desperation,
because all i'm really looking for is a letter,
That danny left on my bed a long time ago,
After one of the first nights we spent together
I want to find it because i think it might be all i have left
Of how things once were,
And i'm desperate to read it again,
To absorb its words
To feel the way i did the day i found it on my bed...
And i cant find it amongst all these other things,
And it starts to frustrate and sadden me.
Now the search has moved from the box to the far corners of my room,
And after an hour of searching, that little paper is nowhere.
Its gone, just like all these feelings,
And i force myself not to cry at this...
Sometime later i come across a tiny heart-shaped box that i hadn't looked in,
And a tiny flicker of hope fills me
As i reach for the lid and open it,
Thinking with some miracle, it might be in there...
And there it is, neatly folded, under some bracelets and cut-up credit cards.
I open it, and i can feel the smile on my face,
And the writing is familiar....
but its not his.
And this is not what i was looking for at all.
This is a letter from justin, that i dont even remember.
No date.
How long has this been here?
And i know the reason i dont remember it,
Is because it is the first time i'm reading it.
Over 2 years ago, maybe longer,
He put this letter here, for me to find
And i never did, until just now.
My hands shake as i read it.
One tear falls to the page, smearing a word or two.
This is justin, telling me he's sorry... for everything.
For almost 3 years i waited just to hear those 2 words from him "I'm Sorry"
And i could have forgiven him for anything...
For everything.
For how badly he hurt me,
And still hurt me even every single day after he left... and never came back.
It wouldn't have mattered to me.
That's all i wanted was for him to regret what he did to me,
And to hear him say it...
And i never got that.
And now, here it was... right here in my hands.
Him, telling me that he never told me often enough what i meant to him,
And that i could be with some guy who treats me great,
But i'm with him instead,
And that i will always be this thing in his life
Which always means more than anything else.
Signing it the way he used to sign everything.
Forcing my mind to a place it hasn't gone in a long time,
At least, not since i met danny.
I went looking, searching, for these words to come from danny
And almost like a sign,
here they are from justin...
justin, who i havent seen in 2 years
who i havent spoken to, or heard from, in longer than i can recall.
justin....
i dont know whether to crumble the paper up or tear it into shreds...
i dont know whether to scream or laugh at the irony...
i dont know whether i'm more upset that i didnt find what i was looking for,
Or if i'm more upset that i didnt find this a long time ago.
but all i do is fold it back up neatly,
And put it back where i found it,
So it can collect 2 more years of dust
Everyone in my life who ever meant anything to me,
Was always sorry -- too late to matter
And that's all these words are ... just memories,
And they dont mean anything more to me now,
Than the crinkled fliers and the postcards.
They are just what used to be...
And they can just stay in those boxes, fading,
forever.
