The Truth

Carhartt in the laundry,
Blue toothbrush by the sink.
These are the things I notice,
When I sit down and I think.

Loose change on the dresser,
Wrappers on the floor.
You always miss the trash can,
Sitting by the door.

Little signs and photographs,
Of you throughout my place.
Even if you up and left,
There'd still be a trace.

That's what nobody tells you.
It takes months before they're gone.
Each time you find a memory,
It gets harder to move on.

I still sleep on the left side,
Even though a queen has room to sprawl.
My blankets feel so big,
And my sheets, a little tall.

But I just can't do it.
I can't do it anymore.
Just leave me like the wrappers,
Forgotten on the floor.

The change doesn't bother me,
That is if you're talking coins.
Please take the photographs.
The ones I can't enjoy.

They remind me of our potential.
How good we could have been.
The truth behind those candids,
Is that we haven't been like them since then.