I stumble upon his stuff.

His filled wallet,
his watch ,
4 sets of contact lenses,
his favorite pair of running/bicycling glasses, a book marked where he meant to begin again,
a note with his handwriting, I pick up each one when I find it.

I examine it, turning it in my hand and then I smell.

Hoping for a trace of him. Gratefully, there is none.

Too close, too soon to feel the bottom again.
I put most of the items down, back where I found it.

Knowing I am not ready to decide what to do with it.
And I close…
the draw, the cabinet, the case
wondering how I will feel next time I stumble upon it.

 

Wondering when I will be ready to throw it, give it away or wonder

to myself, “Why on earth did I keep this?”