things, physical objects, material possessions—
we use them to fill the space in a room so empty,
to fill the void of an old memory in a past left forgotten,
to cherish a happiness that might no longer exist,
to symbolize a love that once was.
like a stuffed animal that provides companionship to a lonely child,
a material gift of random thought to represent a supposed appreciation,
a piece of paper to be framed in return for hard labor,
a ring to encompass a promised bond that could be broken.
seemingly so ordinary—
like the books on an old shelf that share knowledge and truth,
handwritten letters made with words of expression,
albums filled with polaroids that have captured meaningful moments,
corks from wine bottles once paired with homemade dinners or sunset picnics,
creased postcards and used train tickets from travels tucked in journals.
but do any of these things really matter?
do they matter at all when the very thing we possess right in front of us, is the thing, the physical object, the material possession that matters most in this world?
a thing of value that has turned conversation into emoji-filled texts,
pages of photo albums into endless scrolls of over-edited photos in camera rolls,
handwritten journals into public status updates.
a thing of value used to fill the space left empty by the need of self-validation,
to provide us companionship using automated applications and social media accounts,
to show us love through broken snapchat streaks and messages on read,
to capture every second of every moment through a lens instead of actually living them.
physical objects ??
material possessions ?