She'll be preserved inside
some forever box made of cheap wood —
made expensive only
compared to the memories it will carry within.
She’ll lay there forever,
to withstand whatever silly
trivialities lie beyond death.
Beneath the soil, inside some grave,
she’ll no longer stand up to welcome;
she’ll no longer wave from the distance,
her voice echoing a soft hello;
she’ll no longer be where I want her to be.
It’s sad to say —
I don’t have that many memories of her.
Inside that box will lie the sum
of my little memories of her.
It’s unfortunate
the box was much bigger
than what it could contain for me.
I wish I had more memories with her.
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