That empty feeling you get in your stomach when you see how people, step by step, live their lives, move on, have new things in their lives and how you're left behind so behind in time, locked in a drawer full of stuff none even remembers, fraught with souvenirs from the past, unimportant, silly objects.
And you know you're one of them. Nobody will pick you up from there. You stand there in the shadow, hoping you could be sorted out or at least, improved. And no, no one ever comes. And yes, you're still the same object as the one that was left there. And no, people outside the drawer are not the same.
And you're different from them because you're not different from your former you