It's spring. Three seasons have passed since we met and the chill of our winter no longer gives me the goose bumps. I find your name in my phone book and hit delete. I pick up your red shirt, all wrinkled up, and add it to the ones that would shelter the homeless. Collect the shriveled flowers from the blue vase and bury them in the compost heap. I look for the book with the note you left. Would leave it at the park bench. Maybe, the one in the red shirt would find it. Pictures are easier to get rid of. I have one final look before I hit the keys. Must remember to delete the backups. A search in my inbox finds your words. They are deleted forever. Pick up your gray toothbrush and trash it. Finally, you're out of my life. But I still can’t get you out of my mind.