I am the bobby pins you find in corners of your room that seemed empty and clean yesterday.
I am the color of your walls we chose together. I am the gold paint for your ceiling we couldn’t afford.
I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once our bed that I used as a table.
I am Governor’s Island where we had our first real date and our last good date.
I am Super Bad Brad that sings outside of Crif Dogs in Williamsburg on Thursday nights. I am Crif Dogs.
I am the furniture in your bedroom and the dishwasher we found at Ikea for $99.
I am the rug on your floor I stole from my last roommate.
I am that really nice face wash I gave you that you’re probably running out of about now.
I am that guy, Daryl, on the L Train that sings Maybe I’m Amazed.
I am the bottom shelf above your desk where I used to keep my nail polish.
I am ice cream and peach Snapple and Lactaid pills and whiskey and the French press.
I am the way I folded your shirts and paired up your socks.
I am the stamps we carved and printed on your door and the chevrons I painted on the front of it.
I am the heart shaped pans you bake your pot brownies in. I am pot brownies.
I am the reason your Netflix still recommends medical dramas and sad independent movies. I am Weeds.
I am the pasta maker, the ice cream maker, the mixing bowls, and the orange cutting board.
I am your moustache wax and the cup you keep your toothbrush in inside the medicine cabinet.
I am the sheets on your bed and the bathmat and the towels you still use.
I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for this time last year. And I am your first month’s rent on the apartment you still live in.
I am all those naked pictures of me you claim disappeared from your hard drive.
I am the blue umbrella.
I am Albert Camus. I am Jon Krakauer. I am F. Scott.
I am the reason you have a bed because “grown ups don’t sleep on a mattress on the floor.”
I am the name of your imaginary brewery.
I am Trader Joe’s.
I am your skateboard.
I am the northside of Williamsburg (but only the parts above North 7th).
I am all my clothes in your closet that you’ve been saying you’ll “mail tomorrow” for weeks now.
I am Terra Blues. I am Bleeker Street.
I am the puppy store by the bank.
I am Peru. I am our trip to Peru we would be on today. I am the money you haven’t gotten back yet for canceling our trip to Peru.
I am the fourth of July. I am air conditioning. I am the next apartment you’ll live in that actually has a window.
I am coconut oil.
I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.
I am the bobby pins."