It wasn't a very bright idea, her leaving her things behind to reduce her luggage weight. The sight of her geta as she always leaves them on my doorstep bombarded me with a rush of emotions. That she's there, but she's not; that she was there, or had been there, but isn't anymore. It doesn't become any better when I enter my room and see the clothes she left behind strewn over my bed (like she's still there), the notepad she used to do her homework in on my table along with all the origami papers (she's not usually so messy and thus gives you the impression she might intend to come back later and straighten things out).
It wasn't a very bright idea. I feel her absence so strongly now that the first thing I'm going to do when I wake up tomorrow is to arrange all the things in my room so that it would be as if she were never there.