Staring at the boxes where I kept all our things, stuff I tore off the walls, and where I tossed all our rings. Packed in the back, behind all the racks, where the clutter fell and hid the hell. And yes, it was hell—that place I was in when I packed all that in. A lifetime of memories, neatly stacked within… while the chaos swirled, while my stomach hurled—though I fought, I still thought about that girl, and the memories, they still torture me, but I’ll open up those boxes eventually, ’cause I assume someday I’ll be ready.
—Kevin Beary
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