The bedsheets
…still smell of you.

The couch
…hollowed out from your lounging.

The soaps in the bath
…have imprints from your touch.

The glasses on the counter
…still wear your lipstick stains.

The walls
…draped in your handwritten notes

The curtains black and rugs white
…scream of your weird preferences

The heart
…stealthily whispers your name

The brain barely functions
…but will never accept your game

How am I to live a life
…devoid of truth?

When everything else around
…is still alive with pieces of you?

~~~~~

Asha Seth