The Room We Left

We didn't look the door we just stopped returning. Left coffee cups half-full and promises half-kept. The light still poured in through the same crack in the ceiling, but we no longer stood in it together. The bed remembered us creased sheets like silent witnesses to where we once lay heart to heart, then back to back, then apart. The walls held our laughter a little too long, as if echoing might bring us back. But love isn't a thing you forget it's a place you visit with your eyes closed, a scent that stops you in a crowd, a song that opens the door you thought you'd shut for good.