Love letters burnt to a crisp but the ink used on them is marvelously adamant like a mind that doesn’t let go.
An unfinished book draft with cigarette ashes smeared on it like the lipstick smeared over her face on the days she hated herself.
Un-used make up brushes because he liked her without makeup anyway. He enjoyed her obvious sadness.
Curtains that cloud reality and never allow the sunshine to seep in.
An engraved watch which burnt two holes in her pockets because she didn’t only buy one for herself.
An unopened care package from her parents kicked to the corner of the room. Even the card that came with it.
Frozen pizzas overtake the entire fridge. Ice cream is for the good days.
A neat bed for she crashes on the couch after her alcoholic legs don’t allow her to walk that far.
Clothes with tags still on them because she wore the same sweatpants every day, the only thing in her life that she was comfortable in.
A suicide note, as incomplete as her.