Searching

I’m still going through our stuff.

And as I pick up your suit, your shirt, your jacket, your backpack, I search every pocket. I feel deep into the corners where only lint resides.

Searching for you.

Any piece of you.

A grocery list. A receipt. A reminder that you lived.

I search as I sit with one of your t-shirts draped around my neck, your smell still lingers.

 

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