His Room

He was a runner, says the look of his shoes, resting against the door.
He was a traveler, says the opened picture album on his beanbag chair.
He was athletic, says the basketball lying under his desk.
But he was only catching on, says the personal notebook on the desk.

He was productive, says the note reading, "DO MORE", stuck up on the wall.
He had good grades, says the progress reports strewn on the floor.
He had a loving family, says the frame looming on the top of his bookshelf.
But he lost his mother, says the memorial frame on his nightstand.

He loved movies, says the number of Blu-rays and DVDs filling up one of the shelves.
He listened to music, says the buds plugged into his iPhone, lying on the windowsill.
He loved puzzles, says the unsolved Rubik's cube on his bed.
He liked Bob Marley, says the poster on the wall.
He loved his life, said the other note reading, "BE POSITIVE", also stuck on the wall.