I sit on the perfectly made blue striped comforter to his king sized bed in his blue room. It's all exactly how I remembered it, the same way it always looked. Bare and empty with a few personal touches. I sit alone patiently waiting his return, so I took this as an opportunity to explore. His bed looks perfect until you lift the covers. Underneath everything is thrown around with no attempt at organization. Food, bills, and clothes pile up. His bed reminds me of him. Well kept on the outside, but dig deeper and you'll find a mess. To the immediate left of me is a bedside table collecting 6 unopened Arizona Sweet Teas, 3 partially finished water bottles, and a large blue Gatorade with a sip left. In the drawer you'd find Newport cigarettes, the keys to his Chevy, and a little box he carries with him whenever he leaves. I don't dare open the box, afraid of what I might find. I set the box down right where I found it, and move on. Under the table is a collection of pamphlets for a variety of treatments. I grab the yellow generic brand notebook and carefully open it up. Inside I found the world that he's hidden in his mind for so long. There scribbled on the pages, in blue ink is everything he thought and felt while he was away. He's very distant and seems kind of off in his own world, so to find a glimpse of his mind is rare. I place the notebook back because it's not my place to read. I find the playing cards I gave him for our first Valentine's day. I run them through my fingers and they seem worn, fraying at the edges, like they've been looked over a hundred times since I left. I read them as I shuffle all the 52 things I once loved about him. To the left of the table is a brown wooden bookshelf. Rows and rows of DVDs, my favorite still in the place I left it. His books for his first semester of college sit untouched since he dropped out the third month. Shin guards, and soccer balls line the bottom shelf, though it's been years since he last played. The note I sealed with a kiss still hides under the soccer ball. The top shelf is lined with more empty bottles. Jack Daniels, Captain Morgan, and Absolut to name a few. In the left corner the tv sits on top of his dresser, playing ESPN all day, every day. next to the tv is a line of lotions, colognes, and deodorants. He has a wider variety than I do. I open my favorite, from David Beckham, and remember the familiar smell of his hugs. I open the drawers and find all the clothes he's never bothered to wear. I've seen him out of sweats and pajamas only twice within two years. I can't help but wonder why he even keeps them if he never wears them. On the closet door is a mirror with my sophomore year school picture in the right corner. I'm wearing a blue shirt with a plastered smile. I absolutely hate that picture and tempt to rip it down, but he's taped it to the mirror. He says he keeps it there because that's what I looked like when we first met. Inside his closet is a tub containing the childhood he gave up too quickly. All the stuffed animals he used to love. Pushing aside his toys as he made room for the life of drugs. His blue walls display the Eagles jerseys he's so proudly collected. The Eagles seem to be the only thing he's passionate about anymore. Right above the door hangs a cross. I've never known why the cross hangs there since he's never been religious, but I don't question it. I've been alone for an hour so I make my way back to where he left me and look at the picture above his bed- a smiling child at the pool with black sunglasses and a blue bathing suit. I touch the photo, knowing that this little boy is hidden somewhere inside that empty man.