his laundry
his hot sauce
his white bread (cuz he hated the "organic tasteless stuff I bought")
a dish I cooked on our last day together, still sitting in the fridge
his tooth brush
his towel next to mine
his hair in the shaver
his bar of soap in the shower stall
his clothes in my closet
his pillow
his graduation gown (finally graduated from Columbia last May)
his login name on the computer
his emails in my inbox
his netflix viewing history on my queue
his hand-writing on papers everywhere
his books
his shoes
his deodorant
his asthma pump
his swimming shorts
his keepsakes (pictures from his and my daughters)
his cigarette butts in the ash-tray outside
his coffee cup stains on the window sill
his penny collection
his head-phones
his religious bracelet (although, he called himself a heretic catholic)
a shirt that still smells like him
his name in my mailbox
his absence.
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