tell me

i cling to everything-
CDs i can play,
rings that turn my fingers green,
the dead ends of my hair,
old love notes that turn my stomach over and over.
and i'm not proud but there are still boxes under my bed.
and i'm not proud but my closet is still running out of space.
and nostalgia is a fucking waste of time
but my heart is full with it.
tell me i won’t hold this forever.
tell me there will be a day where i let gloriously go.