The Baggage

There's a suitcase on the doorstep.
It arrived here about a week or so ago.
It's not big. No, it's on the scale of medium.
A brown, leather bundle, with green stitching and golden handles,
rests on the doorstep.
It hasn't been moved much.
People use it, take it out for a stroll but always return it to its "proper" place.
It doesn't belong but it does.
It's stuck, in between.
People move around it. That's the usual way of things.
Things weren't always like this.
The suitcase use to be used. It use to move. It use to connect with others. In fact, it use to be part of the house.
Then it arrived on the doorstep and now, it just rests there.