in a hundred words.

There are bus tickets inserted in the books you used to read, because you could never find the patience to get a bookmark. All those notes and letters you wrote to me are inserted in random drawers, along with pens you absentmindedly left behind. I know that your perfume still lingers on the jackets which you borrowed and took ages to return. There are numerous other things, bits and pieces that I never noticed were really there until I realized they were all that I had left of you.

There’s always parts of you that remains, even when you’re gone.