Dear John,

I know this sounds cliche,

But let me count the ways,

That I think of you,

Oh wait.

You’re

Not

Here.

Remember how you left?

I do, because I kept

Everything.

All your shirts and even

How I believed in

Us.

Sitting in a box, high

In the back of my closet and my

Mind.

And as I clean one day,

I’ll throw away-

Everything.

Except I made sure to burn your shirts.