My heart is caught in a limbo, my eyes search the floor. Taking in every detail there is, a stain on your carpet. Coffee. I spilled it. Then they travel up, a look around the room. Bedsheets tangled, the book you would read to me when I was afraid of my own body. That old record player, how hard we tried to make it work, untill we didn’t. Untill it didn’t, work. Quite similar to you, me. Us. We didn’t work either, did we?
I try not to stay for long. Take what I came for. To my right, a cardboard box with a bright yellow sticky note attached to the front. My name scribbled across it in your handwriting. Is this what you did for the others too? It’s the box of my stuff, my clothes, shoes, picture frames with photos clawed in half. Was I that bad? 
Once I’m outside your flat I toss the stupid box of unwanted memories into the bin, better left forgotten, just like us. I look over my shoulder a last glance at the building standing tall. I see a reflection me, but I’m not alone. My hand is busy being pressed into yours, the smile on my face never fades and I’m not even looking at you. But this time I do. And you’re not looking at me too. You’re staring at Alex from across the street, as she bends down to pick something up. 
I realise just how blind I was. –H