My apartment was a minefield.  

I found your hairs on my mattress, and in my bedsheets. 
My drawer held the shirt you left behind, 
on my bedroom floor the morning you left me. 
I cooked with the stack of garlic you bought, 
when you made me dinner that fed me for a week.  

In our final moment,  
I knew deep down I wouldn’t see you again. 
I tried to kill all hope I had of getting you back,  
but it gasped for air every minute of the day.  

Just as I thought I was ok,  
and that I didn’t miss you as much. 
I found another part of you left behind in my home. 
It hurt me for a long time to not talk to you,
and I forced myself… to not lose my already fragile mind.  

I know I deserve better than you, 
and you’re a coward for running away without as much as a simple “goodbye”.