At night, I lie awake and see all the unopened boxes spread across the room, each one labeled with the familiar scribble of your name. I’m afraid to open them, even if I knew what they contained. They’ve been here for a couple of weeks now and I should really get to unpacking but maybe, just maybe, if I keep them sealed it’ll keep you here a little bit longer.
Lately, people have been telling me how much they miss you. How they should’ve paid more attention when you were around. How they should’ve accepted your invites to go hiking or just to hang out at home with a bunch of ice cold beers. How they’re going to miss your weird ass questions about life and other things. How they should’ve taken you more seriously, but you were always such the joking type. But you rarely joked about anything, you like to make people laugh. So they took your overflowing passion as a comedic act.
When you told me you wanted to leave, I begged you to stay. I begged you to take me with you. I begged you, “Please. Please. Please. Don’t go. There’s still so much to be done.”.
I am left here with unopened boxes, each one labeled with the familiar scribble of your name. They’ve been here for a couple of weeks now and I should really get to unpacking but I hope you don’t mind if I keep them sealed, if that means I get to have you just a little bit longer.