the shirts i find on my floor/ they still smell like you/ my scrunchies have a faint tinge/ and all my sweaters too

i try to rolls my eyes/ and i want to look away/ and yet no matter how hard it is/ i can’t come back to stay

i keep our photos up on my wall/ because i insist we’re still friends/ but we rarely talk anymore/ at least since we saw our end

i want to keep busy/ i write and write and write/ and just save it all as a draft/ because i’m afraid i hold on too tight