Moving Time

In my room, I stare up into the shelves of closet, empty boxes on the floor surround me. "Where did all this crap come from?" 

Two rows of shoes I seldom wear peer up at me from underneath my hanging clothes. 

Old potting soil and empty pots look down on me mockingly, reminding me of past failures. 

Philosophy notes, history notes, biology notes, physics notes fill two boxes. 

Old weight watchers materials collect dust, just in case. 

Journals from my childhood. Why do I cart older versions of myself around?

One medium book case. Two others outside of the closet. The books are the hardest to pack--I hate the separation, even for a moment.

The anonymous box in the back corner. I fear it. 

Then. there's. the. desk. a mountain of mail. old files. two or three antique cell phones. programs incompatible with any modern computer, printer, or camera. a broken ipod. sticky notes, sticky notes, sticky notes. and a hole punch.