When I rewind to the sweeter days, I still hear you say “What’s up, Babes?” the curiosity in your tone unbuttoning my soul like a slow tease. Your basket still waits for you clothes folded but never claimed, your toothbrush standing sentinel, and that bracelet I ripped from my wrist the night your anger slammed my door shut. I confess I want to bury my face in your hoody, let the scent of you bleed into me, though I know the memories would spark fire in my hands, tempt me to