My Room is Full of You

my room is full of you.

how could i not have realized it earlier? for a time, the thought floated nebulously in the depths of my mind like a spectre. but one night, i was reaching for a gift of yours to play with when my fingers accidentally touched another, and it was at that moment when realisation hit me like a brilliant beam of golden sunlight. slowly but certainly, you have deposited bits and pieces of yourself – and us – in the different spaces of my bubble. they lie, unobtrusive but hopeful, quietly waiting for me to notice them in a manner more than just tangibly, and i finally do.

there is the sweater top you passed to me one evening when i was too cold. it still smells faintly of you. it is always close to me when i fall asleep each night. your books sit proudly on my bookshelf, waiting for me to devour them (again). aware of my unexplained fascination with the human mind, you rummaged through your cupboard one night for a particular book while i looked on in perplexity. wide-eyed little Jiji sits pertly on my desk, my faithful companion while i clack away on Tristan, my macbook pro.

then there are the memories. you reclining in my chair while we ran through the antics of the comedic 5. the look on your face when you eyed my bookshelves and said, “you really have a lot of books.” us unintentionally falling asleep on my bed as i was sick and you were tired. me staying by your side quietly surfing online shops while you slaved on your ipad.

then there are the gifts. the magnetic strips of words i mentioned i like. cute little R2D2 which we both found out was our favourite character in starwars. the unique cup with a grand history that you bought when you went to a faraway place this year. the zen muji-like clock we took a liking to the moment we set our eyes on it. and so many other gifts i want to pen down here but cannot for the reason only you and i know.

my room is full of you, baby, and it engulfs me like a warm blanket.