The Suitcase Syndrome

There is so much that has to be left
too many things I would like
to regret
as soon as I will get
out of this timeless place,
refreshed – I guess
by a forthcoming longed-for emptiness
And yet
at the moment I stare at them – they blink at me
like that, like this – have you seen it?
Bring them on, if you can!
Ah, all these thought-provoking odds and ends
those knick-knacks with a soul by their own
unfolded mementos exposed
doing their parade on my
bad-made bed,
they look so naked, so vulnerable but still
so familiar ready-made willing stuff
it's just bric-à-brac wishing for
an extra backpack – that one, yes
I can't get.

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