I kept the ticket from the first hockey game we went to together.
It’s been in my wallet or as a bookmark between cookbook pages.
I don’t really know why I’ve kept it all this time.
It’s such an insignificant piece of paper.
The memory has now lasted longer than the relationship.

Maybe I’ve kept it as a reminder of innocence.
Of wanting so badly to be loved.
Of that sick sinking feeling of maybe not being good enough.
I remember keeping my hands at my side just in case you would bridge the gap between us.
In case you would reach out.

I was so young and desperate for your attention.
I convinced myself that my anxiety was butterflies.
Maybe I just keep it as a reminder of that first taste of real love that we gave each other.
One of the only things left, all pictures deleted and presents discarded.
Maybe it’s just a precious piece of a love that didn’t last.

Or maybe it’s just a bookmark now.