The jewelry you gave to me on our anniversary remains in its case at the back of my closet;
The Celtic infinity charm brings back promises neither of us kept.
All the rest of it is in a plastic bag, somewhere in the garage,
Collecting dust and festering memories I don’t want to think about right now.

The stuffed Wookie from Build-A-Bear you gave me as a birthday present is in the guest room in the cabinet under the nightstand;
Nobody ever uses that room anyways,
And I don’t go in there anymore.

My Homecoming mums are in the extra room behind all the suitcases and heavy winter jackets,
And the pictures of you and me are archived on my phone so face recognition doesn’t recognize you anymore.

Your coffee mugs are in the dining room, in drawers no one ever opens, and your number? Deleted, along with your family’s and all your friends’. Their social media: unfollowed, unfriended, muted, blocked.

Note that I kept all the memories. I kept the dinner at Vintage Park where we celebrated a year, I kept the mall where  Chewbacca was stuffed and brought to life, and the magic of the Homecoming dance, and I never deleted those pictures or gave away those mugs, and Facebook can tell me about you if I ever want to know.

But for now, my heart rests; my soul sleeps, tired. Maybe one day I will be able to retrieve these things and I will look at them and be glad I never threw them away.
But that day is not today. Although today I bid you no malice, I hope I will never run into you on the street, because then all these things I’ve hidden will be uprooted and I will remember.
I don’t want to remember, today.