It's funny how the same person can make you feel so many different things.  Standing solitary in that empty room, no more boxes to me, your framed photographs taken off the walls weeks ago, remembering where we used to lay.  If it's not you anymore, I don't know what it will be, but it won't ever be the way it once was.  Things don't stay the same, even memories become rearranged and I feel disoriented in the home we used to share.  Running my hands along the pebbled walls of the hallway that connected each tiny room to the other, recalling the feel of them against my back with a forcefulness that I could never capture again.  I've tried a lot of things to regain that feeling since we were here together so many months ago, but nobody quite compares to you.  Sometimes things are bigger than us, and we let them go hoping that we'll understand their gravity again.  Other times, they just disappear, and there's not much you can do to stop them until you forget they were ever there.  Your bed isn't in the far corner of this room anymore, but I can still remember the way we fit together in it so nicely.