Delaying

I suppose you’ll forget me at some point,
Just, can it be not quite yet?
Let me linger just a little longer still
In these memories you kept.
They never said that it was simple.
Life that is I mean.
We were never given hand guides
How boring would that have been!
We forged out own way through time,
Through the jungles of mess.
Stumbling through both love and hurt,
Then of course all the rest.
So I’ll suppose we’ll all forget at some point,
The adventures we had.
Living in the madness of life
Experiencing both the good and bad.
But can we wait just a little longer please?
Let me have just a sec
To relive just one more memory,
Before its time to forget.
You see I’m scared of what’s next.
I’ve never been there before,
No one really knows
What lies beyond death’s door.

Not Anymore

The rumpled covers of your bed are sprawled out behind me. I half expect them to still retain some warmth some essence of you. They remain stone cold beneath my touch though, like marble carved into an illusion of comfort.
It’s the last thing to pack. Everything else has already been piled into plain cardboard boxes; their lids sealed closed with tack, brown tape.
Inside rest old toys, which though broken, you still could never bring yourself to throw away. C.Ds which you collected, slotted around the vinyl albums that you found at car boot sale in Leeds. You spent weeks locked up in your room, listening to those old things, just being wonderful bazaar you.
Another box is crammed with scraps of paper. Portraits you drew of people I never met, places I never saw, yet somehow in each one you included me.
You said it was because I was your little sister, the person who you would always love the most and could never be replaced. Therefore my essence was always with you.
Your room was once a collage of your life, the walls almost pulsing with the vibrancy of who you were. Now they just stand stark and white.
I didn’t want to give up on you. I tried to convince them that there was still a chance, I tried to convince you! But everyone just shook their heads and looked at me with pity. Especially you.
You held me as I cried, whispering that everything was all right and that I would be fine. My own fear outweighed yours and you left calmly.
Everything isn’t alright thought. I’m not fine. Because your bed doesn’t retain your warmth, and your room no longer echoes you. Not anymore. None of this holds you anymore.