Photos adorn the dresser and a faded dress hangs on a closet door. A pair of well worn sandals collect dust beside the bed. Music plays from an old radio as the images of ghost dance through the living room. The kitchen sits empty and unused. Pots and pans no longer rattle and clang together and there is no laughter anymore. Tears now stain my pillow where the scent of your perfume was before. They say that you get better as time goes by, but I will be loving your memory until the day that I die.