#LostKeys


In my pocket, I carry, a rusted ring of keys,
Clinking softly with no doors to appease.
I carry them still, though their purpose is gone,
A relic of where I once belonged.

They do not fit the locks of today,
Their shapes worn smooth, their edges frayed.
Yet I hold onto them tight, as if they do define
The passage of time, or this life of mine.

What do I seek in...