i feel like there is so much love left when people leave us and we have no idea what to do with them so we keep them in boxes, we store them in drawers and sometimes, we wear them on cold nights when no one is watching.
all around us we make sure we live in a place with no trace of what has been yet every closet is filled with the bones of a dead love and every corner is a reminder of where we got lost
we hide the things they left behind, we create mausoleums out of our rooms and call it “moving on”
even my room is haunted with his hasty departure his old sweatshirt, his silk necktie, and the ocean blue summer dress he gave me gather dust as a relic of a past i have exhibited in the walls of my broken heart
i buy cigarettes and try to remember the taste of his nicotine mouth i study my face in the mirror and try to remember the look of the girl he fell in love with i stay in the nights longer i skip all the cracks in the pavement i keep wishing he come back
one day i woke up in a cold bathroom floor filled with my tears and ***** that’s when I knew where all the leftover love goes it seeds hatred then grows into despair and finally bears the fruit of grief
there is no reasoning with a broken heart only grief
and grief is the greatest leftover love there is it spills all over and seals your chest tight until you feel no fight and no other
so i waited and wasted away until my ribs cracked under the pressure of all the grief flowing out
and one day i realized i left one of his jackets in my old apartment abroad i couldn’t bring it any longer my luggage is filled with so many new things and his was a heavy garment i just couldn’t carry anymore.