i found you in your attic

looking through the old boxes of photos

dust floating in a single crack of sunlight



"this place reeks..."

i broke the silence

"it's the smell of antiques"



"antiques have a smell?"

trying to find your sense of humor

"after they're abandoned and go to hell."



you gave up on searching

and for the first time you seemed

to give me your undivided attention



"are we antique?"

i saw that quick squint in your eyes

and i saw when you realized

what i meant



you parted your lips but nothing came out

you gave up searching; but i've found the doubt

that we will never be new again