The old photos on the coffee table have gathered dust.
There are no more parties for me to share them with.
There are no more friends to browse through them.
They are old, and the grow older, with each passing day...
since your passing.

The clothes in your closet are ruined with mold.
Though they are well worn, they still miss your warmth.
Though they are worn out, they still hold your form.
They hang there, and I let them be. I haven't moved them...
since you left.

The songs you love are playing in the background.
They sound so much better than what they play outside,
Strangely, they sound so much better now than they did back then.
They lead me back, back to those days. Those days locked away...
in memory.

Warren Augustus de Guzman

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memory-120/