I have always known when to stand in a room 

memorizing it, 

knowing I have seen it for the last time, knowing this memorization is either a blessing 

Or more likely a curse 

Fluorescent light, flickering 

Blue-ish paint, peeling 

Radiator humming in a way that feels like old summers 

The requiem of this room 

And so she tells me that I’m selfish, 

That I I haven’t given enough 

And I know 

This means that I am not enough 

And no amount of questions or lists or donations now will fix this void that comes from me 

Being not enough 

Disappointment is hard when you know you are the source of it

No amount of tears will change this 

and no amount of truths

No magic number of mornings, as I stand gazing out the window at my world while my coffee pot does its daily duties next to  me 

Mornings when anything seems possible, but tiring, at the same time 

Mornings when I have something I can count on 

That the sun will always rise beyond that same window 

Even after I’m gone 

and no longer rise from this bed 

It will always be my mother I remember 

Standing there 

Though through time and circumstance I’ve taken her place 

At home. 

So many years my Mecca 

Where you go to regain 

Yourself 

And some lost hope 

Some of it 

The last time I will see this room is a Saturday morning 

Otherwise beautiful 

Comfort care from a radiator 

And toothpaste 

And evidence of the life 

Lived here 

A life I am no longer invited to 

This exit is a hard one 

I will miss this place and I will miss these months I had with the hope I had 

Now sickeningly displaced, in cold coffee and procrastination and swollen eyelids at the family picnic