Empty Rooms Still Hum Our Songs

A cycle of poems «This Is How We Disappear»

The door still creaks with your ghost in the hall,
Silence sings loud where you answered my call.
Dust on the records, but the needle still knows -
Our song plays in shadows no one else now owns.

I reach for your hand in the cold of the bed,
But warmth turned to stone and the pillow lies dead.
The walls hold their breath when I whisper your name,
And echo it back like a soul without flame.

Empty rooms still hum our songs in the dark,
Each note a dagger, each chord leaves a mark.
Your laughter rings out where you’ll never return,
In every silence, my heart starts to burn.

We danced in this kitchen like fire and wine,
Now shadows just waltz through the cracks in the line.
Your coat still hangs by the door, worn and thin -
A relic of love that could not win.

I reach for your hand in the cold of the bed,
But warmth turned to stone and the pillow lies dead.
The walls hold their breath when I whisper your name,
And echo it back like a soul without flame.

Empty rooms still hum our songs in the dark,
Each note a dagger, each chord leaves a mark.
Your laughter rings out where you’ll never return,
In every silence, my heart starts to burn.

I found all your letters tied up with red thread,
Like promises buried beneath what we said.
One page says "forever," the rest are unsent -
Proof love was real, yet too broken to mend.

Time doesn’t heal - it just numbs the pain,
And memory carves deeper rain into rain.
I scream at the ceiling, but nothing replies…
Just vinyl still spinning our lullabies.

So play it again, let the record wear thin,
Let sorrow bleed through where new hope can’t begin.
Though you’re gone, in these walls you belong -
Empty rooms still hum our songs.