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We were joking and I said that
This storage unit is a physical
Metaphor for all the things I’m not
Dealing with right now
I said, pulling down the metal door
Walking away down the cement
Hallway, looking over my shoulder to
Confirm that my sarcasm had landed
On the right shoulders but then I kept
Thinking that when I shut the door
Of my storage unit it’s as if none of it
Exists at all, as if I could displace it
Hold it in time while I live my life
While I sort out all the things about
Myself that I never sorted but always
Wallowed in passively. In the dark
There is no time, there is no sound,
We do not age when we are in denial.
Right? It was in the darkness of my
Humorless conversations that I realized
My greatest fear is dying and so I
Never want to grow up and now I create
Model homes in empty units with
Couches I’ve never sat on, desks
I’ve never written at, and beds I’ve
Never loved in and I just hope that
In all this time the replicas will become
Real, that they won’t meet their expiration
Dates or that I’ll pick up a calendar before
I realize that fear does not control
Time, and time does not control
Fear but they dance together and cackle
In the dark, in the space between breaths,
In the hesitation between yes and no.

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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