With your record loud on the stereo, I'm finding it hard to concentrate. I immerse myself in melancholy.
Except for a small bit of paper, and a saved voicemail or two, there is no tangible evidence of you and I. But I surround myself with flashbacks and moments. I press them to my chest, and take a solemn second to thank each one. Some of our moments are framed under glass, and remain unscathed. Others are dog-eared, from all the going over. They lie under my pillow at night, and travel with me through the day.
Last night, I put on my winter coat for the first time this year. Tucked nicely in my pocket: another memory of you.