You left your hair in the sink
I kept it there as a reminder
we were growing old,
that things fall out of place
and take awhile to rebirth themselves

You left your scent lingering
between my sheets
the familiar mixture of body heat, sly smiles
I left it there as a reminder
of our conversations,
the ones where our paper hearts
wrote tin can telephone conversations
through our arteries

You left every single ******* sock of yours
on the floor
tossed aside,
claiming they trapped too many feelings
inside them at night

Sleeping with feelings wedged between your toes
is the equivalent to walking between whispers

It never works.

You left your skin on the kitchen counter
between the sink and the stove
a reminder that we are always shedding the excess
that in six months we are sombody new,
something our body
doesn't quite feel comfortable yet

You left too many notes for me to find.
hidden in the crevices of drawers
under the matress
stitched inbetween pillow case threads
even inside the broken toaster
a reminder that anything can catch a flame

You left a lot of things in Oregon,
but you didn't leave your heart.

You took that with you.