Remnants

I still keep the waterjug you gave me beside me in bed so when i wake up in the middle of the night thirsty, i could just reach for it and drink. It used to be you i want to reach for when i wake up from a bad dream, when i feel scared, or when i can't sleep. But now that you've left, all i can feel in the dark are the remnants of what used to be us. The waterjug that you gave me for christmas, the paperweight that you brought from Zamboanga, the tiny teddy bear you gave me for Valentines. They are the only traces of you left in my life. I would like to think that at some point, these things actually meant something. I want to move on thinking that these things say that, before the water ebbed, before the sun set, before the flower wilted, i was once loved by you.