I listen to the walls and they tell me you were here
they remember
they saw you laugh
and they remember that you cried,
I listen to my music
and remember that we heard
the same when you were here with me
I think,
the music was more fine.
I lie upon my bed, alone, and -do I dream?-
or does
it still hold shades of the parfumes that you spread?
I know I have to leave
this house behind
with all the memories you left inside and
come to a space
for both of us
where there ain't memories, but where there's life.
