All my bags are packed ,Im ready to go

I hope to see you,
I hope to hear the magic words,
Instead I see boxes everywhere,
Brown, straight, tilted, overweight, half full and half empty
Interesting how these boxes are filled every time something else is emptied,
Like life in a city much loved and lived in
or life beyond a relationship much longed for
The last time I put stuff inside boxes, I boxed other stuff out of my head
Stuff like 'one needs a professional identity for sustenance' or that 'indefinite sabbaticals are hazardous to the body and soul'
This time as I stuff them
I wonder if my insides have been emptied out already and I can feel nothing no more