compacted carpet, footprints slowly fade.
Silence fills the rooms where once she'd sang
and weeds reclaim the grass on which kids played.
The mattress on the bed is memory foam
- he hopes that it will still retain her form;
but bricks and wood no longer make a home
- this house will never get to be so warm.
So here he is, he's lying on his side
with arms outstretched across the empty space
- he never thought the bed could feel so wide
without the promise of her love's embrace.
With life so short, our time ticks by so fast
- how long can our impressions truly last