That Place

"That Place"

It was night

when I finally finished cleaning.

   You had left long before now,

   weeks before me.

I packed all the boxes 

of things you left,

of things you told me 

to donate away.

I painted over 

the holes 

in the walls.

Cleaned the kitchen. 

Closed the blinds.

Walked through 

and looked at all the empty corners.

This place was what was left

and we are both leaving separately.

   All those emotions experienced here 

      are now among the walls,

among the silence and shadows.

Everything we said and felt

belongs now 

to the history of this space.

Right before I turned out the lights,

That last glimpse I took

I saw all 

the echoes of memory 

dance

through the hallways and the rooms.

Cried as I stood there 

for a second 

remembering

most our moments we spent there 

living our life together.

   But I, only stand here now 

   as a spectator 

watching it play out 

beyond the here and now,

   as only remnants of a happier time,

trying my damndest

to ignore what went wrong.

But I will take with me 

only what will hurt

and leave behind 

all the pleasant parts

because they won't come.

They belong there in the end anyway,

unspoiled,

for the silence and the walls.

We had our moments 

and now have both moved on.

I wonder every now and again 

where you are

but then the parts 

I took with me from that moment

come flooding back in 

and I choose not to remember you.

You're so far away from me now

that I don't know what you look like.

Don't know your name.

Don't even remember things you liked.

I do still remember that place, however.

Where it is. What it looks like.

   The off color of white the walls were painted.

   The stains on the carpet from the wine we spilled.

   The way the bed faced the window from the other end.

   The layout of the bathroom with the shower by the door.

The nights we took showers together 

and made love 

dripping in water.

Laid together on the couch 

as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The way the light shined 

through the kitchen window 

when we made breakfast for each other.

Oh no, There I go, remembering you again.

I can't anymore.

I choose not to think about you.

I won't remember you.

I choose not to remember you.

But 

sometimes I think 

I took too much with me from that place.

Maybe even stole some of those pleasant memories.

But I did it

Just so when I cry

I can find my reasons why.

-Armando Torres