I have a box of things. It holds all of my favorite memories. It has everything from ticket stubs, to plastic rings, to notes passed in the back of math class. It has valentines from 6th grade and a square of fabric off dads favorite old shirt. But that box holds more than just memories and trinkets; it holds you.

I can’t look in that box anymore because the fragments of us that are still preserved in its cardboard sided. It has your necklace, the wrappers from that reese cup, and the picture from our first date. I can’t open the box because I know somewhere towards the bottom I will find the sweet, heartfelt letters that you scribbled to me in that awful handwriting of yours. I’ll remember how our elbows always bumped while you wrote them in class because you’re left handed. In that dreadful box, I’ll find the very pencil you wrote those letters with - you gave me yours when I lost my favorite one. I can’t open the box.

I have a locker just down the way from yours. I don’t like to visit it very often. I don’t like remembering you being there. I can see you, leaning in front of it just as soon as I finally get it unlocked so it shuts again. And you claim it is an accident. For a kiss, you day, you will help me open it. I see myself leaning against the one next to yours early on a Monday morning, and the most frightening kid in our lovely high school glaring at me to move out of his way. You, and your protective arm, wrap around me and scoot me over to the side. I hate that locker.

I have a T-shirt of yours. I can’t bear to wear it, but I can’t bear to give it back. It hides in the bottom of my closet under those ugly sweaters I only wear at Christmas. I don’t know if it still smells like you. I don’t know if I could distinguish your smell anymore. It was always so distinct, manly, attractive. You were earthy and homey. You were my sanctuary. Your smell, your smile, and your laugh gave me a sense of security I could not find anywhere else. I was never afraid with you. I saw security in the way you stood up to the bullies and in the way you treated the babies your mom babysits. Although I have no use for it, I can’t lose that shirt.

I have a box of things. It holds all of my favorite memories. It has everything from ticket stubs, to plastic rings, to notes passed in the back of math class. It has valentines from 6th grade and a square of fabric off dads favorite old shirt. But that box holds more than just memories and trinkets; it holds you. But I have come to find something - you are everywhere. You were there on the first day of school when I climbed out of a red car just like yours. You were there at my eighteen birthday party with the perfect present. You were there on New Year’s Eve, and you kissed me in front of your friends. You are there every Friday night at the football games still leading the team. You are there in French everyday at seventh period. You are there in the staircase after lunch, waiting for me to round the corner for a secret smooch.  You will be there in the bleachers at my last swim meet in high school. You will be there when I’m sitting at home the night of my senior prom. You will be there when I give my speech at graduation and I am named valedictorian. You are truly everywhere. The fragments of you haunt me everyday.

But it’s time you found another home besides my box.