The stylus lay in the mess that is my room, unbothered.

Last night was the end that I had refused to believe would come, despite seeing all the signs. Though the scenario played endlessly before, as a nightmare uninvited, I was still caught off-guard. Or rather, you can never be prepared, especially when you know you have to break your heart for the greater good.

And this morning, as I went around this city for my usual routine, it was only then that I realized how this city is stained by memories of you. Of us. How the pillars at the train station remembered how you embrace me, and how you walked with me when I had that sprain and everything. How I tried to look for those adhesive table linings that I had hidden once in between the styli at that store, only to find that both linings and styli are gone, replaced by quite overpriced pens.

How every step reminded me of you, the moments I spent with you; and how I held your hand when we walked together.

The stylus still lay among my stuff. I never got to give it to you.