Like an old record, I've played your voice in my head a million times over, so much so that the vinyl is starting to degrade and the sweet sound that I used to hear is distorted and pretty soon it will be worm out completely. And like an old photograph that I can't stop picking up, the edges of your face are wrinkled and torn, and someday you'll be so faded that I can't make you out at all. Your smell has already been forgotten, like trying to remember the smell of a house that you haven't lived in for over a decade. The familiar smell of the wood floors and dinner on the stove are impossible to recall, replaced by the new carpet and the take out left on the counter to rot and stink up this new home of yours.