i’m going to wear those shorts you bought me.
not because they’re from you,
but because they look good
and they’re the most damned comfortable
things i own.
i’m not going to limit myself
or be reminded of you.
i did laundry the other day.
once, i would have laughed at my
domestication, your socks intertwined in mine.
i have since cut time in half.
soap and suds
are more symbolic than they are cleansing
(and my detergent is Cool and crisp with intangible charm! already).
each drip that dries is a final
wave goodbye from a sleeve that once
held your arm.
i’ve always been fine with my own shoes;
insecurities floated higher than that, but no more.
it just it took me a minute to remember than i can
savour memories and overlay them
at the same time.