Bin
I keep checking the bin.
As if I have ditched something important.
Something I want to recover now.
As if I have discarded it on impulse.
When I was on the edge.
What exactly do I want to find in the bin?
Why do I feel the urge to recover it?
It won’t be there. I know that.
Yet, I keep checking the bin.
As if it conceals a hidden treasure.
An answer.
A meaning.
An apology.