Empty Cups
You took ghosting to another level,
when I still had things to say.
now I stare at empty coffee cups,
and your blank memoriam page.
There's no one left for answers -
all I know is that you're gone -
but when my cupboard door still creaks,
your memory lingers on.
I look back at those moments warmly,
when I've been left out in the cold,
when I flew on a plane, once again,
since Jamaica at five years old.
I held onto those experiences,
and even the smallest souvenirs -
each trinket holding its sentiment,
as relics from two lost years.