Every year it is the same resolution. Although a different song that I must turn off on the radio. It pains me to change the station; a physical aching in my chest. It is depriving myself of the last tiny glimmer. You. We both have our boyfriends now, easily consumed by it. Although you do not refer to him as such, for being so off and on, and I do not refer to him as such, for being so on. I never thought in a million lifetimes that I'd be telling someone like him not to touch the sweatpants that you wore. My last small relic. The gravity of knowing you touched something that I can still touch, you, who you were then, and me now, just the same. As if just my fingertips may know, you were here, as you were. Change is just an iteration of death. I mourn your light laugh, and the way that you would look at me. I somehow managed to hold the proof that we were what we were, yet if that were true we simply could not, would not be here. I can't make sense of it, and you stopped trying. All my tears  are for you, I would give you my dreams willingly, you would take them either way. I would give it all up to touch your face, but it has changed, altered from then in which I need it to still be. Would you recognize my shallow eyes, just skimming the surface.