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  • Unredeemed gift card for a neck and shoulder massage
  • Shark tooth on a blue string necklace
  • Baby tooth of my first dog
    • and the last collar she ever wore
  • The trick to keeping a Tamagotchi from starving
  • The trick to asking for help
  • Final digit of my kindergarten best friend’s phone number
    • The promises we made
  • The face of the ghost who kissed my eyelids and told me it wasn’t my time yet
    • The hands of the ghost who told me I’d died a trillion times
      • The mouth of the ghost who couldn’t speak, who swished psychedelic & tragic above my bed, whose scars glowed pink in the nightlight, who warned me with her LSD eyes that love is a currency for the living
  • Green hospital bracelet
  • The brass key that slipped through the keyhole, the one that unlocked the little door at the back of my skull so I could reach in and retrieve things I’d stored in there—for safekeeping, to forget a while, to hide from myself until I was no longer the same person
  • The note you scribbled on my forearm in red pen
    • that said everything’s gonna be ok someday
      • i promise
        • i’ve seen it
          • it’s beautiful
            • and you’re there
              • so just hold on