Staring at the photograph of you.
Does it make me ill at all to see it?
I get that question a lot.
Maybe too often at that.

The answer? The answer is no.
I do not get ill, but sick.
There is a difference my dear friend.
Friend? I said you were a friend?

Once before you were not.
You were more than a friend.
Or were you?
This photograph speaks a thousand words--
Or so they said.

Too many years. It has been hasn't it?
How many now? Two? Three?
I am glued here. Cannot move on.
People pity me. Seek medicine help.
No. I tell myself No. But does it work, they all ask.

When will you come back to me?
I always ask, pretending your here.
You will never make it back.
Not to me, maybe to her.
Its not my place to ask now, is it?

I'll be left alone from now on.
No one is here anymore.
Together... I stand.
Or was it "Alone" I stand?

I don't remember anymore.
I don't need to remember at this time.
My life is deadly without you.
And I cannot move on, not like this.

Reaching for the photograph, I throw it down.
It will hit the trash, like it did the day before.
And the day before that.
But it always finds a way back to me.
My arms reaching for it, my heart pounding.

I left your life, but you did not leave mine.
I think of how this photo would have been better...
I think of how I could have made one moment in life happier...

With you.