promises we made, plans we didn't keep

Sorry, flashbacks again.

I get surprised when I realize this place is still so full of you. I walk into a space or I see something in the distance or I read a sign on the street or I hear a particular sound and there you are. Though you aren't.

But don't worry, no need to worry; you'd be relieved to know that these days, I can easily pass things by and not think twice. It's just that every so often, if I bother to strain my ears or count the lights or walk the blocks, I notice. I remember. I want to ask:

When did you leave?
&
Did you see me? In the interlude, when it approached 5 PM or 2 AM, when the balmy air ruffled your hair, when you drank bittersweetness from a mug and doodled on Post-It notes, when your heater roared for a few minutes before abruptly shutting off, when you heard someone harmonizing with the radio — did you see me too?

What did you keep, and what did you throw away?

What did you keep,
and what did you throw away?