The memory of spaces

I think spaces grow accustomed to us

As much as we do to them.

This room reeks of your absence.

You see, spaces have stories, and memories.

My room remembers you more than I do.

I stare at your pillow for hours

Trying to remeber the shape of your head

from the crease on the pillowcase.

It all comes back to me then.

How, lying here, we had breathed the same air.

And the rhythm of your snores lulled me to sleep

Now the silence keeps me awake

Till dawn creeps in near the window sill.

Your absence doesn't haunt me

As much as your memory does.