I was sifting through a drawer in my nightstand where I put random, miscellaneous things that don't fit anywhere else, where I stumbled upon a wad of folded up papers. Several years ago I had written a Pablo Neruda poem down on looseleaf paper and stashed it because it made me think of you.
I read it again, and I felt nothing. Then I ripped up and tossed it into the trash can. It was awesome.