you have my ring, you know. my thick silver one that says my name. you used to wear it on your pinky because your fingers were too big, clicked it annoyingly against glass surfaces. you also probably still have several of my socks, sticky gummi bears, and the necklace you took from my kitchen and promptly broke.

you still have the note i wrote you in september of 2006, the one i penciled on yellow cardstock that you tucked into your wallet. the fortune from the chinese restaurant that said i would be your wife. a deck of cards that i wrote on, fifty-two reasons why i loved you.

you still have my learner's permit in your wallet, me at fifteen grinning excitedly for the camera. you looked sheepish when i pulled it out (i'd wondered where it went). you said you took it because i didn't need it anymore.

well, you don't need me anymore, either.

---

you left behind your pillow, you know. the blue-green plaid one, that smelled like you. it sits at the foot of my bed and one of these days it's going to fall behind my loft and i won't be bothered enough to pick it up. i have three of your t-shirts in my drawer, and your enormous red hoodie is still buried at the bottom of my closet.

"keep it," you said, "a little piece of me."

all i have are little pieces of you.
your yellow monster keychain that is chipped and faded, your novel, some guitar strings, and your aunt's necklace, the diamond one.

i took it off and took it home. i can't bear to touch some things anymore; they're much too heavy.

---

here is what you truly left me with, if you really cared to know:

the spaces in between my fingers where yours once were, and my hand that still is cupped gently, molded to the shape of your palm, and that, when i wake from a nightmare, still reaches out blindly into the dark for reassurance from someone who is no longer there.