You asked for your shirt back, the one you said I could keep in my closet in case you needed a change of clothes.
I’d left a note in the front left pocket. A folded piece of paper torn from my college ruled notebook, meant as a surprise.
It said something cute about the way you laughed and your toothy smile.
It was a small tear of paper, folded tight. I imagined you reading it and breaking into that toothy grin. You see my handwriting and are reminded of the time you told me you loved the way I scrawled the letter “E”. You held me close, brushing my hair aside and breathed the words into my ear.
I gave you that shirt back and now you’re gone.