I Don’t Know Why

I don’t know why your things are sitting inside of a garbage bag in the back of my car.
I don’t know why I can’t just throw them out with the rest of the trash.
I don’t know why I still think of them as your things when you haven’t seen them for years.
I don’t know why it’s been years since you’ve talked to me.
I don’t know why I still sleep with the stuffed animal you gave me but I tell myself it’s because the shape is just right.
I don’t know why I put all your old clothes and presents you gave me in a trash bag but I probably thought it was a step closer to a dumpster.
I don’t know why I cried for hours while I folded each old sweatshirt and tucked away all of the letters with your sloppy handwriting.
I don’t know why it mattered so much to me.
I don’t know why it still does after I’ve moved on.
I don’t know why I can manage most days to not even think of you but then one day I do.
I don’t know why those days I cry when truly, I am happy for you.
I don’t know why things turned out the way they did.
I don’t know why you haven’t called.
I don’t know why the only place I could think to put all of your things is in the trunk of my car so they’re with me everywhere I go.
I should throw them in the trash can next Wednesday with the rest of the garbage so they’ll be taken away forever but I probably won’t.
And I don’t know why.