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?