I found your T-shirt at the back of my car, hidden underneath the books I’ve read so many times yet couldn’t get rid of because every page reminded me of the way you spoke as though the world was the audience and they were intently watching you go on and on about the way you loved watching the sun set or the rain splash against your window. Your T-shirt smelt of the day you told me you were leaving, cold tears still feeling so warm after the moment you hugged me and said it was for the good, but I never found the good in ‘goodbye’, maybe it was just me stuck in the middle of the night, still wishing upon 11:11, hoping you’d come back