I looked at two suites;
the first was clean and neat,
It reminded me of a theatrical set,
Where they might have produced
a soap opera it was quite unique,
In that suite

The second smelled of death,
The remains, was clutter strewn about,
Like bones that remain after the vultures
have picked the carcass clean,
In that suite.

They took the valuables, the treasures
The antiques, leaving behind the clutter,
The little things that made a living being
out of the last occupant who lived,
In that suite

There were fifty years of memories,
Tears, Smiles, Arguments,
Laughter and joy,
They all were there,
In that suite.

I suppose somewhere in there too,
is the spirit of the last remaining vestige?
Of the very special person,
who lived there by themselves.
In that suite.

I thought I would leave that suite
to someone,
who was more special than I was,
To enjoy those memories contained,

In that suite.
Then I thought, maybe I could leave
My memories, my smiles, my pain,
My arguments, my laughter, my joy,
And my clutter
In that suite.

I decided to live in that suite,
When I become just a memory,
I will leave behind, my clutter,
For another person to inherit,
In that suite.