A cup is just a cup
until it's the last cup that she touched,
and a car
is just a way from a to b
until it's the way that she arrived
at z.

A picture in a frame
is lovely to see, even if only ever viewed
in the background, passively,
but when the image
locks in place
the last smile on her face
then your grief turns to regret
for the memory
trapped beneath the glass.

An old pair of slippers,
tucked neatly beside the door,
stepping over
every time you cross the threshold,
until the day
when you have to toss those old things away
and they are as heavy as anchors
and more treasured
than diamond.

A scent that fills your head,
the comfort of a familiar figure and
a warm embrace,
but when you can no longer detect it's fragrance,
it becomes a mystery
impossible to solve,
a memory lost to time
like the ghost of a kiss
lost somewhere among the rest.

A name is just a name
until it's torn from the tongue and carved
into the stone,
and a dream
is a just a thing between the night and the light,
until it's the only way that she
can ever be.