I'm in a familiar place
without familiar faces.
I'm a stand-alone being.
A shelf for your thoughts
and ideas to rest on.
What you forget,
I remember.
Everything under the sun.
I'm an attic filled to the brim.
Overflow and forget what's in me,
until one day someone cleans me out.
Emptiness becomes fulfillment, a quiet,
peaceful blank slate of silence and loneliness.
Grab the chalk, make it messy,
and clean it all over again.
How quaint, to be so simple-minded.
To have the option to keep,
but to give in spite of the junk
the world loves to fill you up with.
