When a drawer closes

maybe it was my subconscious, but i never put his picture in my locket and he kept his hands in his pocket the last time we talked it was not a real conversation, but an obligatory exchange with silence so strange that i could taste the change. now that naked locket sits in a drawer and my mind wanders back to times of before when hands weren’t in pockets but reaching for more and my heart was open instead of sore. but though things didn’t turn out how i supposed a little bit sore is still better than closed, and when this heart heals it’ll be strong, locket resting against it, inside a picture that belongs.