The taste of the coffee I had the morning you left
still lingers in my mouth,
it was dark but delicate.

When you left,
I had to act like it was fine because
you only love me when it's silent.
I wonder how can you act like I'm nobody when
it's loud.

The photographs are no longer hanging,
the writings are no longer clear.
It has turned old and bronzy,
because you’re no longer here.

Our memories.
It’s fading,
and it's the best feeling.