I am holding out hope you'll call tonight, even if it's only to say goodbye properly.

I put your worn paperback on the shelf by the window where you liked it.

I forgive you for the small things that kept piling up between us.

I scribbled the recipe you liked on the back of an envelope and left it on the stove.

I left the spare sunglasses in the glove compartment like you always ask me to.

I am tired of pretending I'm okay, so I'm telling you: I'm not.

Please take the dented tin of coins from the jar if you want the luck.

I will miss waking up to the smell of your coffee more than I thought I would.

I folded your letter into the back pocket of the jacket I borrowed from you.

I saved the receipt from the camera shop where you fixed the strap.

Don't drive too fast today; I can't stand picturing you on that road.

I kept your playlist on shuffle so I can hear you in short bursts.

Take the houseplant that keeps surviving my lack of water — it needs you more.

I will remember your shoelace knot because it's how you tie every morning.

I'm sorry for the nights I woke you to ask small stupid questions.

I tucked the spare chargers together in the pouch with the stickers.

I wish I could sit beside you one more time and not say anything at all.

I called the vet and left a message about Milo; don't freak out on the drive.

I wrapped your headphones in the drawer so they won't fray in transit.

I am thinking of you now, plain and heavy, and that thought won't leave me.

Take the spare key on the hook under the fern if you need to come back for something.

I'm glad we argued and said the hard things; I needed that honesty before goodbye.

I left a note in your wallet by the receipt for the burger place.

I don't know how long this is; I'm scared but I believe you'll be okay.

I wish I had packed your shirts less messily, you'll know where to find them.

I keep thinking of your laugh in the kitchen and it hurts to know the house will be quiet.

Hold the dented travel mug I gave you until you don't want it anymore.

I can't promise tomorrow, but tonight I will try to sleep without calling.

I will miss smoking on the balcony with you and your crooked lighter.

I'm sorry I snapped this morning, I wish I'd been calmer before you left.

I kept your blue beanie in my drawer so you don't have to go hunting for it later.

I can't promise this won't hurt for a long time.

I'm sorry I wasn't braver when you said you needed space.

Please forgive me for forgetting your mother's birthday this year.

Promise me you'll eat something that isn't instant noodles tonight.

Please text when you arrive so I stop worrying.

I miss waking up to your notifications and then realizing it's you.

I miss your forehead on my shoulder when we watch the news.

I miss you more when I pass the bench where you kissed me.

I miss the small apology texts you send after you curse at traffic.