Memories Stored

Here I sit and think,
quietly counting the numbers,
of the tidy compartments,
with their little closed doors.
All the same size, simple squares,
nothing fancy, nothing odd.
Simple boxes with simple doors,
filed simply in the back of my mind.
Sitting here I realize, while counting,
that there are fewer and fewer,
of those little doors I’m willing to open.
Fewer doors I want to look inside.
And so I keep those counted doors closed,
out of fear that their contents,
won’t turn out to be,
what I recall they once were.
Yes the fear outweighs,
the need for feeling
the touch of those memories that
I so neatly store.