a fuller bag

 you had a bag when you walked through that door. i remember vividly its bright blood red color and stubborn silver zipper. it had the most awkward shape, like a balloon barely gasping for air.

somedays i would offer to buy you another, a fuller bag, one that doesn't stand out like a sore thumb because of its hue, one that i can carry too. most days you would decline, your eyebrows furrowing as you shake your head no. 

most days too you would offer, your bag, as a place for my stuff. i was grateful. finally someone giving me such a vast space, such significance. some days i would put my handy umbrella, my 12 year old camera, and every random thing even if i can carry them in mine. i guess it just felt nice, to know another safe spot for those i hold dear. i felt relieved even if it was just a gram lifted off my shoulder. it was lighter then. 

one day i noticed your stubborn zipper refusing to lock its teeth. it was stuck in the middle, a familiar grey notebook protruding. i noticed too a brown colored shirt, wrinkled and poking out of its flap.

most days i wondered about that time. but only somedays did i really think it mattered. 

unfortunate me, it was everyday you're taking a piece of me, one by one carrying them in your starving sack. 

you brought with you nothing, and will probably leave with everything i am - was. 

 the worst part was the realization that i assisted in putting all of me that would fit inside. now my bag is broken at the seams with its straps barely holding.