When I’m gone,
People will pick up my belongings and probably say,
‘This is the camera she used to photograph the Autumn trees.
It cost 600 dollars
And now it sits destroyed by loneliness.
It shall never again capture a moment
As enchanting as the ones she saw
Through the viewfinder.
And this is the fountain pen
Running out of ink.
How many words do you think
Were still inside her head?
Things bought with her own money
Things that may have made her smile at some point
And now just sit to rust.
I almost don’t want to touch them.’
Going away -rosecolouredgold