If I listen to the silence hard enough, I can still hear your breath on the pillow next to me. If I lay still for long enough, I can feel your gentle touch on my collarbone. But I talk too much and move to quickly so the memory of you is gone. I’m glad you took your sweater that smelled like you because the odor would have driven me crazy. I’m glad you got that never ending CD collection out of my living room and I hope that one day you’ll buy yourself an iPod. But I wish you would have taken the sound of your voice singing in the shower out of my ears and the smell of your skin off of my fingertips. I told you to take everything. I meant take me.