I pretend that I gave you all of your stuff back,
but one of your t-shirts is still hidden in the corner of my room.
I would be lying if I said
that it doesn’t make me sick to my stomach
every time that I look at it.
It doesn’t smell like you anymore.
I accidentally washed it with my own clothes last month.
Part of me wishes that it still did
and part of me thanks God that it doesn’t.
I wish there was a way for you to come back to me.










