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The clock hands move, clumsy as chopsticks
While cobwebs reside in the place we once played house.
The beaded spiders slumber on the outdated radio
But there's no one else to greet my homecoming,
No soft sway of music or your off-key humming.
I'd forgotten the way our house used to fill with light,
And how we'd charm heat into a pressed winter night.
Now the furniture peeks out from ghostly sheets of dust,
And the window seals are caked in glinting glass.
The letters we exchanged, like teenage confessions,
They're still curled remains in the fireplace ashes.
Complacent pictures litter the cracking walls,
Their subjects posing like remnants of a thought,
In a universe where people weren't gods.
Ancient vines smother one rusted frame,
And your smile is curtailed of even faded color.
But still I smear the dirt away with my thumb,
To catch a glimpse of your eyes before I go numb.
This dance of memories teeters on bittersweet,
Like the last gust of a forgotten summer's heat.
The amber leaves float like clouds in the driveway,
The sidewalk still painted with childish pictures.
One thing remains the same as I pay my last respects,
My head is bowed to my heart as I walk away alone
So grateful I'm both chilled and warmed to the bone.