The Room

I sit alone and stare
At my wall of flaking paint
Thinking, in it, I see your face
Images both strong and faint.

On the ceiling I count panels
One hundred and fifty two
The very number of days
I was to spend with you.

I still smell your fragrance
In this little room
Which has become my hideaway
My shelter, and my tomb.

On the floor is a ragged carpet
That once listened to your voice.
It heard you say goodbye
The night you made your choice.

Today I watch shadows
Paint patterns on the wall.
Maybe, if I wait long enough
You may give me a call.

It’s as though nothing happened
In this crumbling little space
Though in every corner
I think I see your face.

How empty is this room
Once so filled with you
But is now completely vacant
Like an evening without dew.

With my back against the wall
I must close my eyes to see
This place, once so full of happiness
Was a mansion for you and me.