Three Passports, Same Drawer
three passports in the drawer now, ten years between each face. i can't remember the time between them.
This one goes to a heavy place. If you’d rather not read it tonight, that’s a fine choice — support resources are here.
renewed my passport today. the new one came in a stiff envelope and i put it in the drawer with the other two, the expired ones i never sent back.
so now there's three of me in there. i lined them up on the table just now. 2016, 2006, and this one. same drawer the whole time, three faces, ten years between each. i look tired in all of them, even the young one, which i didn't think i'd earned yet at twenty.
i tried to remember what i did with the ten years between the first two and it just went blank. not sad blank. more like a hallway with all the doors shut. i know things happened. i can't feel them from here. it's a stack of small maroon books i keep in a drawer with dead batteries and a warranty for a fridge i don't own anymore.
the new one expires in 2036. i sat there trying to picture who slides this drawer open then, whether it's me, whether i'm the one clearing it out or the reason someone else is.
i put all three back. i couldn't tell you why i keep the old ones. i closed the drawer.
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