I left them in the walls,
wedged deep, past the flaking paint.
Small, shining absences.
The cracks knew.
They kept the weight of touch.
Nothing moved unless I did.
Now I leave things without looking back.
I pass places I once touched,
untouched.
Somewhere, someone is counting.
Not me.
Hiding coins in walls.
What were you thinking?
You were a kid.
You could have had something sweet.