cleaning up

today i walked into my living room and picked up the half-empty cup of coffee that has sat on my coffee table for exactly two weeks. i dumped the sour contents down the drain and left the mug in the sink with every other coffee mug i have used in the past two weeks. i started crying as soon as the coffee went down the drain.
then, i picked up the four completely brown bananas that have sat in my fruit basket and threw them away.
i hid my spare apartment key and put a memo in my phone as to where it now lives.
i picked up the pile of pajamas, clothes, and the goldfish beach towel that has sat on my kitchen island and moved them to the hamper, pausing only for a moment to verify that, yes, they still smell like his apartment-- like him.
the gallon-size ziplock of toiletries and cosmetics was thrown under the sink unopened and disregarded.
the 'hunk of the month' calendar with his picture that my staff gave me as a joke for my birthday is folded back up and put in a drawer.
i turned over the photos of us sitting on my craft table: the ones that were my favorites. the ones that i loved because we both look so genuinely happy. the ones that i would use as a sort of crafting muse when making little surprises and gifts.
the monsters university mug he gave me for christmas still sits on my counter where i placed it the day we exchanged gifts. i've been told to take it outside and shatter it, but i can't do that. breaking something else isn't going to make broken me feel any better.
the only items truly his left here now is the bottle of foot lotion he left on my bathroom counter that my fingers graze on a daily basis as i pump my own lotion or put on perfume. that, and a box of campanelle pasta in my cupboard he brought over when we were going to make dinner one night. both meaningless to him, forgotten in the collection of belongings. i should throw them away, but i can't.

i didn't clean any of this up because i was especially ready, angry, or hurt. instead, i was too embarrassed to have a friend see the current status of my apartment when she came over to study. unsurprisingly, my kitchen and living room are a little less daunting now. i still look at the couch and see us sitting there, me crying, hyperventilating, as he holds me and tells me he doesn't love me while i beg for a chance to fix whatever i am doing wrong. i didn't understand then, and two weeks later i still don't. i don't understand and i don't believe him. so i keep waiting and hoping for the moment when he doesn't believe himself either.

because two weeks later, i still can't come up with reasons why i shouldn't love him. yes, in fourteen months there were plenty of situations that made me mad or hurt my feelings. i'm sure he has plenty of memories of me saying or doing things that made him mad or hurt his feelings. i keep thinking of things that still speak volumes for the level of care i thought he had for me. "if he didn't love me, then why. . ." is probably my most frequent thought accompanied by some daisy chain of memories that ends in tears and the closest emotion to anger i can get. i know this isn't helping me heal and i know that at some point i'm going to have to face the facts and start healing myself. but for now, i'll just keep waiting and asking god nicely, for the first time in years, to please let this work out, to help both of us be okay.