His pen still sits in the mug

intermingled with my favorites

and broken pencils without erasers

I grab it, think of

him

We each had our favorite

Made it a point to know

and buy them as stocking stuffers

 

His plant still sits on my sill

twice the size than when he gave it

Among white pots, green leaves

I water it, think of

him

He brought it nervous to my door

one special night

a memory, thriving in the sunshine

 

I marvel at the 100 ways

we discover to convey

I love you

 

I water the plant

years later

I find myself wanting to return

your pen