Papers

Crinkled folded paper
Lists
To do, groceries, packing
Remnants of weeks past
Attempts at organizing life

Piles of papers just the same
Appointment cards, receipts, bills

How is it that life comes down to these
The only proof of what you’ve done
Where you’ve been
What you’ve bought (and just HAD to have)

There must be more
If you have children you can see them grow
But for us, adults
Truly children in big bodies with big responsibilities
How do we quantify who we are?

It’s not what we’ve “done”…not really
It’s not piles of papers or houses full of stuff
It’s that stuff on the inside
Things we’ve learned
Love exchanged
The hard stuff we’ve cried endless tears over

Endless lists and piles of paper
Scraps with emails addresses and phone numbers
Proof of what we’ve done and where we’ve been

Just little reminders of how we got here