A new house,

A new beginning, I think.

New memories to make,

New stories to tell.

My toe hits an uprooted tile,

Bending down, I look to see what that is.

A little hiding place,

From when the house was someone else’s home.

A tin can,

My hand closes upon the lid,

The rust brushing onto my fingers,

As the tin sits opened again.

A little locket,

A little note,

A little knife,

A little vial.

My heart skips a beat,

As I take in what was someone else’s memories,

A smile stretching across my face,

I roll open the note.

“I did it”, it reads,

“I killed him.”, he confessed.

“My little secret”

Now not just yours I thought.

A little locket that was around someone’s neck,

A little knife that was around their neck,

A little vial filled with the blood from their neck,

I stand shook with the tin in my hand…

~thryaksha