The rooms that we lived in are empty now,
My footsteps hollow on the floor.
It doesn’t seem so long since there were voices,
And in the end, your tears, behind the door.
Everything is gone that was you and me,
Except me, and I’m not what I was.
Thank you for reminding me I’m nothing –
I’d ask ‘Why?’, and you’d answer ‘Just because’.
As I stand in the box that was our bedroom
I can’t keep back my thoughts, so I won’t try.
The emptiness is full of happy midnights:
I might as well give in and start to cry.
There’s nothing left of you as far as others see,
But little things were what we grew to know.
A hairgrip that has lodged in between the boards
That the carpet of forgetting doesn’t show.
These are the things that will always be:
The key is not mine any more.
What is, what was, and what will never be –
So I whisper ‘Goodbye”, then close the door.
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