The Things I Left Behind
By Anna Brozolo
One 16 oz. jar of butternut squash pasta sauce, because you promised we’d start cooking more. See also: one package of fresh, handmade pasta, probably moldy by now.
Three wire hangers (one bent). You don’t deserve the plastic ones.
One James Patterson thriller, originally stolen from work. If you think that I actually want this back, then it’s just more proof we shouldn’t be together.
Two small silver keys, that I was once so excited to have.
One month’s supply of birth control — wait, seriously? Shit.
One mini-fridge, borrowed from my dad after he heard how disgusting your fridge is. There was no way I could have lifted it down the stairs (I got my stuff alone, working quickly before you got home), so have fun dealing with that when you move out.
The ability to listen to Bloc Party without dissolving into tears.
Two empty Tupperware containers, previously containing 12 almond-cranberry cookies I made because my grandma always taught me that baking is like love. I took the cookies.
One Post-It note, attached to the Tupperware. Ten words, including two mentions of “love” and one “baby”, and a sketch of two hearts – I’d rather not be reminded.
One pair black socks, fallen behind the bed. I knew they were back there, I just didn’t want to lay on our bed again to have to get them.
One iPhone charger, also behind the bed. I’m actually regretting leaving that one – you owe me $30.
Fourteen months of my life.
Two bottles imported Belgian beer. I’ll tell you that it’s fine, that you can just keep them because they were a gift, but really it’s just because I couldn’t fit them in my duffel bag.
One bouquet of yellow flowers, now wilted and rotting on your desk; a reminder of how quickly things fell apart.
One striped sweater, size small. Another gift that I just can’t look at anymore.
Ten photographs of me, ranging from cutely inappropriate to definitely NSFW. I couldn’t find (and destroy) them, but I hope you’ll do that instead of posting them online. Please.
One pair red silk panties, with matching lace bra, originally worn in photographs (see above). Left behind partly to remind you of what you’ll be missing, and partly because I can’t stand the idea of wearing that again for anyone else.
That warm, fuzzy feeling I used to get when I saw other couples in public holding hands or kissing and knew how they felt and how happy they must be — now I just want to throw things.
One table lamp with adjustable neck. From all the nights you were working late and I stayed up reading, waiting for you.
One freestanding heater, with remote, because I remember how cold our bed could get on those nights.