UNSORTED Object Archive

A catalog of ordinary things that carried more than they were built for. One line each — the rest lives in the book.
archive
UA-001
·
Junk Drawer

I am the graveyard of your unsorted life.

Opened only when you’re lost.

fragment
archive
UA-002
·
Key

I was made to fit something, but lately, it’s like the door changed shape.

More shutting than opening.

fragment
archive
UA-003
·
Shower at 2:43 AM

This is about drowning without dying.

Not clean. Quiet. Temporary.

fragment
archive
UA-004
·
Mirror

You only love me when the lighting is kind.

Truth isn’t always flattering.

fragment
archive
UA-005
·
Lightbulb

You only notice me when it’s too dark.

Burning isn’t the same as failing.

fragment
archive
UA-006
·
Umbrella

I took the storm for you.

Forgotten the moment the sun returns.

fragment
archive
UA-007
·
Dead House Plant

I dried out while you promised you’d be better tomorrow.

Care that arrived late.

fragment
archive
UA-008
·
Nightstand

I am the witness of everything you do not say.

Things touched in the dark.

fragment
archive
UA-009
·
Book

You close me before I finish speaking.

Opened most honestly when lonely.

fragment
archive
UA-010
·
Laundry Basket

I hold every version of you you don’t want seen.

Held until it overflows.

fragment
archive
UA-011
·
Broken Hanger

Still somehow in use.

Kept even after it snapped.

fragment
archive
UA-012
·
Vacuum

I roar and whine just to be heard.

Put away like it’s an embarrassment.

fragment
archive
UA-013
·
Bleach

Not cleaned. Gone.

Erasure disguised as help.

fragment
archive
UA-014
·
Soap

I dissolve to make you feel whole.

Noticed only when missing.

fragment