Some think of it as a wasted space.
Somewhere you toss extra belongings that you don't really need.
Spare batteries. A paper clip. Rubber bands.
Some think of it as a place to stash the things they use on occasion.
It could be memories, or take out menus.
Or a blend of things between.
A deck of cards that's missing the Jack of Clubs. Keys to your last apartment. Tylenol.
But all of these things...
They mattered once.
To me.
A picture of my family. A notebook with random thoughts. A packet of parmesan cheese.
My junk drawer is a special place.
Some would call it clutter.
But I would call it perspective.
A look into the window of who I could be.
Pens and pencils. A dead lighter. My dead best friend's wallet.
It’s like the closet of a child when Mom tells them to clean their room.
A collection of everything you’ve recently used.
If this drawer could only talk… I wonder what it’d say.
I wonder if it’d tell a good story about who I used to be.
Or if someone looking through it would just see a pile of junk…
Shoved in a drawer. And forgotten.
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