The Way Things Used To Be

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The Way Things Used To Be

 

Our home has become as lonely

as the last leaf on a dying tree

laughter no longer reverberates against walls

we consummated with our love

old arguments replay themselves endlessly

like a scratched record avoiding the next beat

the eerie shadows of who we once were

turn us into restless spirits of the night 

as we haunt ourselves with stained memories of

the way things used to be

 

Photo from Google Images