You used to make fun of me for never throwing things out. And you had almost labeled me a hoarder when you found out about that box of chocolates 4 years ago.
Last night, I stumbled upon it in the corner of my closet.
Do you remember how I had saved it from the day you had first asked me out? The one with a green lid and golden embossing.
We had munched on those chocolates a long time ago, leaving the box empty but last night, when I lifted it up, it felt almost too heavy. The past clung on to its sides, conversations dripping from the edges.
I had almost forgotten about it. I used to think that along with everything else, you might have taken it with you when you left. But last night, I found out that it wasn’t the only thing you left behind.
After you left, I turned into a hoarder of memories instead. Of the way, you smiled differently on Sundays mornings and how you sometimes put on the left shoe before the right one. The way you would sometimes sing in the middle of July afternoons, making my already-yours-heart skip a beat. How we used to fight over the last piece of chocolate, and I always, always lost to you.
You used to laugh and say that there’s nothing in this world that dark chocolate cannot fix.
Now I know you were wrong. Because I still lose to you, every day.