The Keys

There is a box called Healing. I yearn for it, for its contents, but it is locked. They keys are at the bottom of a sea of grief that I can't swim through. They keys are hidden in the truth that I cannot accept. The keys are amongst the shattered glass blades of broken promises that I can't handle. They keys are in a tree of memories that I can't climb. They keys are in roses of phony apologies that I can't swallow. In order to be happy, I first have to get even more sad. And I just can't do it.