Putting your life into boxes,
placing with care the delicate things that make up your home.
Penning a warning on a lid:
PRIVATE, FRAGILE, HEAVY
Progressing through your task to the darkest reaches of your closet...
Pausing.
Perceiving the significance of what you've found,
possibly untouched since your last move.
Prompting memories that you've also tried not to touch,
perhaps your hesitance was in vain.
Prudence suggests that you walk away.
Precaution tells you to resume your chore;
Pandora opened a box and look how well that turned out!
Possibly better than this is going to...
Pertinacious in your folly, you continue,
pressing on into this barred-up corner of your memories.
Pain comes swiftly and you greet it without surprise,
perversely accepting the heartache and regret.
Pugnacious and petulant, you endure,
penitent, but uncertain how to change things.
Perhaps, for now, you should move on.
Packing is perilous, but it must be done.
