Ink in Water

A slide of hand and just like that, I was nothing but a tightly sealed envelope discretely placed on a still busy desk; a name in the system.

I never could have imagined that so many months could fit into one little brown box.

Trinkets, old stationery,  an outdated picture frame all sit atop stacks of paper; a year’s worth.

The stolen mornings, stained with coffee and hushed laughter is left behind, bound to be blotted out eventually, ink in water.