These Things Aren’t Important

Here lie these things.

These things don’t matter, and they never did. At the time, I believed them to be mandatory detours taken on the journey towards myself.

I thought they were mile-markers that gave validation to the hours, nights, and heartbreak behind every balled sheet of 8.5x11.

In reality, they are mere gravestones for dead illusions, scattering the quiet sands along the road.

They rest in my mother’s curio gallery, monuments and offerings to her for everything she’s inspired me to be.

So, here lie these things; these things aren’t important. At one point, I believed them to be, but not anymore.

Along the rest of the wander, I will adhere to the quiet signs along the asphalt:

No loitering; wait here.