The other day I used a word you taught me --

Something only we said in our little language

And recently, I thought of the bus stop

where you used to drop me

after our weekends together.

Sometimes it's the smell of the kitchen

when you made your signature chicken

Or the way your fingers reached out for mine

before we crossed the road.

There's this t-shirt of yours I still wear at night

And a ticket stub from a movie we enjoyed.

I allow myself to dwell

on these metaphorical sticky notes

of a long closed chapter, 

reminding myself

how hard it was to shut that book.

I think of the box in which I keep 

all my broken jewellery --

earrings that have lost their pairs,

beads from necklaces that fell apart. 

It's safe to keep you in there

To remind myself of all I've lost,

Of all that was once beautiful.