It will always remind me of the
fabric on the seats of your
beat up Taurus (god I was so
scared of that car, of you), a
profession of love for Whole
Foods and the best rootbeer
I'll ever taste (you sat yours
in the cup holder between
us to grab my face and say,
"Hey, look at me. You're so
beautiful" before reigniting
everything with your mouth on
my mouth), a book of pictures
of New York City (the one you
said you wanted to buy for me
and snuck off the shelf and to
the counter when I wasn't looking)
that I can't seem to throw out
no matter how hard I try, and
you telling me "it's happening"
when I apologized for my lack
of meat-eating that was
keeping you from falling in
love with me. Tell me how
I'm supposed to move on,
please, because I'm having
trouble forgetting your details.