leftover love

 What do I do with my leftover love?

I still know someones very first crush
Someone's favorite drink
The date of death of someones dog
Their favorite song from fifth grade
How proud they were of themselves when they learnt to do their own hair
Their favorite subject back then or
Why they want to become an engineer.
I can still hear their laugh, the way they would say a word.
I can walk around their house blindfolded,
Even though I haven't been in years.
I remember their birthdates and their perfume.
Inside jokes long left behind, forlornly forgotten.

Im spilling at the edges with too much love to give,
old love that used to be reserved for someone else.
Without those safety nets, I feel incomplete, exposed.
I package the love neatly into boxes, ready to be moved to a new home.
Even once it's resettled, I visit its old addresses
With its dusty windows and uncut garden.
The key doesn't fit anymore and neither does the leftover love.