the box in my closet

Did I hurt you?
Do you still think about me, the way I do about you?
You infest my every thought, and lurk around the corners of my mind, with your green eyes flashing like headlights in the shadows.
I can see you now, stretched out cross- legged, and leaned back in the center of me, as comfortable as one would be in their own home.
Do you realize how much space you’ve taken up?

After you left, I cleaned out my room, and put all the things I had from you in an old shoebox,
And then another when the first filled up.
Photographs I printed out of us, once strung across my walls, now buried in the back of my closet.
You always said it was weird, the way I covered my bedroom walls in pictures of my friends, and you.
but secretly I think you liked it.

Did you make a box for me too?
Did you fill up two, maybe three, with the letters I wrote you, and the things I made for you?
I embroidered a sweatshirt for you once, with the emblem of a camera on it, in your favorite colors.
You never wore it, not once.
I wonder if it’s in a box in the back of your closet.