Empty drawer.

There used to be a drawer. In that drawer, were your things. Not your belongings, but your things. Objects that represented you - that epitomized  you. You did not know that I kept these objects. They were for me. I cannot remember when I decided to place them in the bottom drawer of that childhood white dresser in my room - whether it was when I was still yours, or when I was not. Therefore I cannot remember the original intent of those objects, but they could magically become you when you were gone - that I can remember. I could open that drawer, and believe you were there.

There was:
the corsage with all the dried rainbow flowers you gave me for junior senior banquet,
photographs from that same day,
the letter you used to first ask me out,
a stick of deodorant that smelled like you,
and a certificate you once gave me that I never had the chance to use.

These things became you when I needed you. These things allowed my mind to remember - convinced me that it all did happen, even when it all felt like a dream. I cried into this drawer, I laughed into this drawer, I screamed into this drawer, I prayed into this drawer.

The drawer is now empty. Well, it is full of less-significant things. But it is empty of you. I do not remember when I chose to empty the drawer (it must have been years ago), but I do remember my intention. I had decided that you had been gone long enough, and there was no need for you to be in my drawer anymore.

Today I opened the drawer. And I cried out when I remembered that you are no longer there.