i. the strap of her backpack where the silver teeth of staples peek out at the top. her cheeks are pink when she explains it. her hands are too weak to sow it back on now and her wallet is too thin. no room in a budget for a new place to store her memories in.
ii. the sheets where her sweat leaked cold over her skin. her mouth was pandora’s box and her jaw locked to keep the nightmares in. the linens were midnight blue and there was a slowly-growing tear in them from where the first woman you ever tasted sank her teeth in. the next girl you invited under the covers told you she can hear the last lover’s ghost. she asked you to throw out anything that had collected screams. she made it sound like a cleansing. you somehow never got around to it and when you finally spread apart her legs, your toes found the hole that was made by your ex.
iii. a dried flower in a small wine glass from the one night you tried to treat her like a princess. she choked on how fake it felt. you don’t remember much but that she begged you to stop pretending. she said that your pretense of love was entirely unconvincing. your compliments crawled like spiders on her skin. she blew out the three candles you had lit. she fucked you quietly in the darkness.
iv. her earrings you promised you would fix but somehow never got around to it.
v. a book she lent you a long time ago that you started but you never finished. she underlined things for you in the final chapters. you didn’t see them. they were all love confessions. you yelled at her because she kept asking you how far along you’d gotten. she saw it the other day crumpled beneath your laundry basket and you shrugged. she said she didn’t mind but she was oddly quiet afterwards.
vi. liquor bottles like gravesites from where you were too honest to be kind to her. the last time the two of you sat on your floor and drank, she asked you which of her friends you dreamed about kissing. you listed them off a little too easily. when you turned the question around and aimed it at her, she stood up. she said that she had never thought of kissing anyone else because she was honestly in love. she stopped the game and did shots until she was dangerously drunk.
vii. a house, a room, a bed”
a heap of sentimental objects;