As the marker ink dries on the last carton,
For a few seconds I look back at the empty room,
Boxes stacked up in a corner, otherwise bare
Bare, except for the memories that will never leave my side.
Memories of afternoons spent day dreaming,
Memories of mornings spent over books spread across the bedspread,
Memories of evenings spent locked up with a lover,
Memories of lonely nights with only silence for company,
Memories of days spent catching up with friends,
Memories of hours spent over the phone, laughing, talking,
Memories of moments spent crying over failed relationships.
Countless memories fight for space,
One imposing itself over the other.
And within seconds you realise that it’s all come to a close,
A door closing, a life you knew, slipping out of hand.
I looked back at the box, the ink now dry,
With unsure hands I sealed it, setting it atop another.
Without looking back I walked out of the room,
Reluctantly pulling the door behind me, wiping off a tear.
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