Chelsea Hotel stationery, ripened figs, angry love confessions in the rain, dark chocolate with raspberry and sea salt, candlelit poetry reading, worn and weathered photographs, ink-stained fingers, her picture in my leatherback wallet, a disfigured face carved onto chipped linoleum, a strangler fig tree on red wax seal, a dimly lit jazz club, a gyre of red lipstick on a shared cigarette, a typewriter with the letters that spell out 'forgive me' broken off, a three minute long saved voicemail, a withered begonia pressed flatly to the pages of a Charles Bukowski book, the record player needle bleeding across a Leonard Cohen vinyl, a loose thread in my jacket pocket from her scarf, a lemon macaroon split perfectly in half, a cork unscrewed I kept from a champagne bottle served at his wedding.