Through the keyhole
the dust is tangible
a blanket of soft snow
draping grandpa's things
all of it, locked away
she hid the memories
she buried the pain
I blink slowly
careful not to blur my vision
my hands run against the peeling wood
white paint,
chips like snowflakes,
fall to the rust carpet
it's the things I cannot remember
they haunt me
I was a part of them
and yet
they do not exist
inside of me
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