What's Left

I opened the pantry, light spilled across shelves,

where dust floated gently, like memories of selves.

A solitary jar of peanut butter stands tall,

a beacon of comfort, yet nothing else at all.

The shelves are nearly bare, reminders of meals,

of moments shared fleeting, and how time steals.

I sigh at the emptiness, plans left undone,

ghosts of recipes linger, while hope weighs a ton.

With each glance at the space, a void I can’t fill,

it echoes of dinners and dreams left to chill.

The pantry, a mirror, showing what’s become,

a hollow reflection where laughter was spun.