Written by Jolene Gabionza

My wallet is still full of the movie tickets we drew on with cheap markers we stole at the fair, and your grade six graduation picture I always find myself looking at ten minutes before I head off to slumber. And oh, I also still managed to keep that chocolate syrup-stained receipt of Will Grayson, Will Grayson– the book we promised to read together. I tuck these in carefully like it carried my life– slowly, gently, then fast forward, like a freight train losing its control but not meeting an accident. I never knew what serendipity meant before, much more if it could really exist in the world who’s never a fan of happy endings, but when I met you I felt like we weaved every letter of the word and met in the middle– our fingers drowned in pain because of all the stitching. Yet we did it. We are here.

My phone is still full of the games we played together, also known as the roots of all those punches and pinches so playful; those middle-aged women we chanced upon in Burger King almost gave us the deadliest of all death glares. I could still remember how you fell asleep while in the midst of beating my best score in Piano Tiles’ Sonata 4. Alongside those games are folders of videos of our daily antics, may it be random trips to the zoo after examinations or sneaking inside abandoned places with milkshakes and dusty caps. I used to be scared of uncertainty until you came. I used to be hesitant in plunging myself into adventures. Yet you made me do it. We are here.

My heart is still full of every piece of you–good and bad. My brain is still full of memories which you authored. 

But you what? This is everything–and the only thing–I can be.

I can fill my life with your soul, yet the fact that you’re gone still makes everything so empty.

I would be happy to see you around again.

I would be happy to hold you once more.

I guess I’ll have to keep your emptiness until you come back.

I guess I’ll keep you even if it hurts.

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Our memories are good examples of the perfect combination of pleasure & pain. We keep mementos, little souvenirs of precious times– shoved deep in our pockets, posted on our walls, or buried somewhere inside our heads. To some, they visit these hidden thoughts and forgotten trinkets every once in a while to draw strength from, only to store them back in secured vaults whose locks hold strong all day only to weaken in sleep.

But there are people who secure their memories in a headlock, just to keep them close and prove to themselves that somewhere out there, good things do happen and that life does not generally suck. With arms and legs wrapped around the representations of those circumstances that made them feel more human and are capable of feeling happiness, they draw another breath to their lungs that enable them to make the next step and carry on.

However, living with and in the past numbs your senses to anything present and now. No matter how much we want to pack our bags and move to our beloved memories for permanent residence, no realtor will accept payments in illusions and dreams of fantasy– resulting to empty shells that other mistake for flesh and blood.