today, I am the last passenger that’s stranded at an empty railway station, I am the plucked heart resembled that of a pretty hibiscus from a neighbourhood recklessly thrown away while getting back home, I am the mailbox that’s never opened, I am a cluster of words that’s abandoned, maybe marked “unread” after quietly reading. I am the tray of cupcakes with wrath and fury and teaspoon of tears and aches. All the old lovers- the ones that called me by pet names, the ones that