They said that, if I got rid of everything, i’d be okay. So I put them all box – every present, every note, every picture, everything tied to a memory – and burned it all up ’til only ashes were left.
But then there was your number, the only one you used the entire time we’d been together. The last eleven-digit string of numbers I wanted to see. I deleted it from my phone, only to realize that I’d memorized it right down to the very last digit, to the smallest nuance in the way it was spoken out loud.