If These Walls Could Talk

Dad, sometimes I search through photographs we've known,
Letting your favorite songs fill up the room.
Each melody becomes a bridge somehow,
Connecting then with here, connecting then with now.

I still walk through the living room each day,
Half hoping grief has somehow lost its way;
That I'll find you smiling, standing by your chair,
With open arms reminding me you're there.

Your hugs were more than comfort I could keep;
They reached the parts of me too hurt to speak.
They wrapped around my worries, fears, and pain,
Like gentle summer after winter rain.

On quiet nights, when all the world grows still,
I look toward your chair against my will.
The silence says what words could never do,
About the space that's left from losing you.

But love was never buried with goodbye.
It simply learned to live beyond the sky.
It lingers in these walls, these halls, this place,
And in the parts of me shaped by your embrace.

If walls could talk, they'd whisper through the years
Of echoed laughter, triumphs, hopes, and tears.
They'd tell the world the truest thing they knew:

A home is built with love, and ours was built by you.