Your shirt is still under my bed
Right next to your sleepy bedhead
I file and store these memories
Inside my head, used as a directory

Your blanket is still in a pile on my couch
I never want it to leave my house
It’ll stay put until you come back
Or until your mother shows up for combat

Our secrets are still locked up in my closet
I kept them there, just as I promised
They tend to scratch up the door, sometimes
But what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine