Bedroom Memories

by Grant McLaughlin

This room is filled with memories.
I can still see us putting 
new bed sheets on my bed,
ruining the tucked in blankets
30 seconds after finishing.

I can still see the bottle of champagne 
we put on my red book shelf in the 
corner of my room when we finished
our second sleep over.

I can smell the candles we put
on my desk, filled with journals 
and papers.

The candles are all put out now,
the desk is bare except
for the poetry that's scattered on it.

Scattered like our clothes 
all over my floor
now clean and clear of anything but carpet.

I still see you grabbing blankets from my 
closet because we left the windows 
open at night so we could cuddle
without getting hot.

The paintings on the wall '
remember our first kiss when I told 
you you looked like the stars
glowing in the dark.

There's the feet prints we made on the wall
when we'd press them against
it talking about school and life.

This is room is filled with 
memories of what I no longer love.

I can see our glasses on top of 
my alarm clock when we went to sleep.

This place was filled with love,
now there are posters on the wall.

I put your memories in a box
in the back of my closet where I 
pick out my suits.

The Christmas lights we used to see
each other in the dark go unlit.

Cold air continues to come in through 
the window,
but I don't get a blanket,
they're just draped over my desk chair.

There's no spot for you here anymore,
no free real-estate in my heart.

I'm filled with memories,
but this room  holds nothing
we shared anymore.

The furniture has been moved around.
I moved on.

Published by Grant McLaughlin

Poet and Journalist. email me at

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