A learned eye scanning my room would spot them: an array of mementos, both big and small, souvenirs of lost love.
From the red guitar leaning against the wall opposite my bed, enticing me to unzip its case once more and indulge in another YouTube video, to the purple Body Fantasies spray perched on my makeshift table among other personal care products, my room serves as a small shrine to my past loves.
For each lost relationship, discreetly tucked away, there lies a memento hinting at what was, what used to be, and what now remains.
I admit to being a hoarder, clinging to items I no longer need out of sentimental attachment. But perhaps it's more than mere hoarding. I find myself deliberately acquiring these objects, drawn to them in stores, unable to resist their call. I reach for the Strawberry Body Fantasies Spray, or I treat myself to the guitar as an end-of-year gift. I surround myself with familiar sounds that transport me to another time.
Yet, what if I'm not alone in this? Are we not all collages of the people we've loved, the friends we've held, and those we've yet to love? Do we each harbour secret mementoes of love, hidden in plain sight, serving as subtle reminders of who we were and who we aspire to be?
My mementoes of love do not signify a failing relationship but rather the enduring completeness of my capacity to love. With each declaration of 'you have my heart, you have me,' these mementoes stand in my shrine, gentle reminders of what once was and what still remains.