A life looking at the door - a poem by Chris Zachariou

You are my memories
when life was strawberries
and cream in June, of scars
and wounds unhealed and of
unending days of sadness.

You are my memories
of endless sleepless nights
a breakfast table set for one
and of an empty life I spent
staring at a silent door.

You are my memories
of songs in every minor scale
and you are the face etched in
all the rainy clouds on Sundays.