Where Memories Stay

They do not vanish with the light,

nor crumble as the seasons turn;

they linger in the folds of air,

where embers still refuse to burn.

An empty chair beside the pane,

a teacup cooled an hour ago,

the scent of winter in the hall,

and streets covered in quiet snow.

We keep the keys to rooms we left,

and walk along the halls alone,

learning that grief is simply love

with nowhere left to call its own.