I'm sad so I wrote a stupid poem

A million layered memories
Held inside these walls.
A relationship without atrophy.
To me it's story calls.

Each object screams your name.
There's the tea you bought me
On top my slender bed frame
You wrote on in black sharpie.

Pieces of you have stayed
In the faded jacket you left.
The sheets on which we laid,
We held each other as we slept.

The story speaks of naivety,
And happiness without ache.
When you told me in sobriety
"We need to take a break."