The old photos on the coffee table have gathered dust. <br />There are no more parties for me to share them with. <br />There are no more friends to browse through them. <br />They are old, and the grow older, with each passing day... <br />since your passing. <br /> <br />The clothes in your closet are ruined with mold. <br />Though they are well worn, they still miss your warmth. <br />Though they are worn out, they still hold your form. <br />They hang there, and I let them be. I haven't moved them... <br />since you left. <br /> <br />The songs you love are playing in the background. <br />They sound so much better than what they play outside, <br />Strangely, they sound so much better now than they did back then. <br />They lead me back, back to those days. Those days locked away... <br />in memory.<br /><br />Warren Augustus de Guzman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memory-120/
