It's been one hundred and twenty days since you left
But today
I smelled you
Opened up one of your dresser drawers
And smiled at its contents
Realizing
It must have been months since I'd opened this drawer
I pulled out a single blue t-shirt
You left behind
The only one
Out of the dozen others that you own
And stuffed into your seabag
You left this one behind
I held it up and remembered the countless nights I'd spent folding these shirts
Over and over again
I held it up and imagined you wearing it
And of course I had to,
I held it up to my face, closed my eyes, and then something incredible happened
I smelled you
You, not your shampoo or shower gel, not your deodorant or your cologne, not your laundry detergent, not even the boat smell that plagues half your wardrobe
I just smelled you
Something I haven't smelled in one hundred and twenty days
A scent I didn't forget,
But rather a memory I forgot that I remembered
Instantly it brings me back
Back to all the times I hugged you as you wore this very shirt (or the one hundred variations of it)
Back to all the nights I crawled into bed next to you and smelled this
Smelled you
Back to never thinking twice about this smell
Because it was normal, routine
It was you
Which means it was also me
It was nothing to drop to my knees and cry over
Nothing to thank god for
But that was one hundred and twenty days ago
And today
This shirt means everything to me

While he's away, find a friend.
While he's away, find a place.
While he's away, find yourself.

While he's away, be okay.
While he's away, be thankful.
While he's away, be you.

He's not coming back.
Give thanks for that.

I know what to do with the polaroids we took over the holidays--
I can burn them.

I know what to do with the seven t-shirts, two sweatshirts, and one jersey you gave me to sleep in and wear while we held each other in bed every night for three years--
I can throw them away.

I know what to do with the necklace you gave me when you visited me, the bracelet you gave me for our six months and the earrings you bought me when we fought last year on my birthday--
I can sell them.

But I don't know what to do with your voice ringing in my head, saying I love you, and then I hate you.

But I don't know what to do with the image of your eyes lighting up when I would greet you at the airport, and then of your arms hesitating to hug me the last time we would ever see each other.

But I don't know what to do with the thought of you holding someone else and giving them your t-shirt to sleep in after a long night in.

And I don't know what to do with the memories. Three years of memories. Of loving you, of you loving me. Of holding you, of you holding me. Of fighting. Of every moment I caught my breath to make sure we were real and then of every moment I wished you hadn't lied or cheated or done something hurtful. Of every little thing that made me want you and want to get away from you all at the same time.

What do I do with all of that?

You don’t know him like I do,
He has night terrors like he’s been in war,
He doesn’t trust himself when he drinks alone,
He fears he will turnout like his father,

You don’t know him like I do,
When he’s happy you can’t help but smile,
When he’s grumpy he has the most adorable nose crinkle,
When he’s sad he won’t let it show,

You don’t know him like I do,
There are doors locked within his eyes,
He fears failing everyone,
Loving people is hard for him because people leave,

You don’t know him like I do you never really will,
I hope you figure out that he loves back rubs as he falls asleep,
Or that getting him a gatorade is like a peace offering,
Never forget to let him know that you’re home safe.

You may think that you know it all,
And I really hope you do,
But a love like mine and his doesn’t come around but once in a lifetime.

I was his once in a lifetime,
So to who ever who loves him next,
I am a tough act to follow but I truly do wish you luck,
Please take care of him and keep building him up.
He deserves the world, make sure you give it to him.

But you will never know him the way I do, no one will.

It was creepy, eerie, so tangible.

You knocked on my bedroom door.
You walked in so slowly.

As you approached me, my heartbeat hastened.
You sat down right in front of me and our eyes met.

Your hand reached out to me and we hugged.
I held you so close.

I dreamt of you last night.
I remember reassuring myself it was real.

Saturday's

Why are they so important?

Why do they mean so much?

Last Saturday I was at a bar talking to Canadians at a bachelor party--one of which bought me drinks all night and wanted to makeout with me.

The Saturday before that I went out with some friends I hadn't seen in a long time.

And before that, I went out with my friends to this area that had so many bars filled with people who drank themselves into stupors--kind of like I did the Saturday before that one.

I was dumped. So I drank--a lot I drank. That Saturday was a mess.

But tonight is Saturday and I didn't want to do anything, yet I felt like I should. So I did. I went to a friend's house to drink, but I didn't go out. I felt tipsy, I felt surrounded by friends, but I also felt sad.

He was out. He was happy. And he definitely was probably not sad.

But I was.

It's funny how break ups work--they make you question even the smallest things, like the purpose of Saturday's, ya know?

Our last kiss was not even one we wanted, but one we knew had to just happen.