It was last night I sat upon my bedroom
floor and took the twenty six pictures I
owned of us. I spread them out, I cried
tears that distorted the paper.

You never told me why you did it, I never
really thought to ask until it was too late.

If you're happy and I know it, then I guess
in the end I'll be okay. There's really no
escaping this pain you've inflicted though I
cannot blame you for all of it.

And like the heartbroken girl sitting on her
bed, in sadness and anger I ripped the
pictures to shreds. If I had no pride I'd slip
over to the waste basket and tape them
back together.

The days have left me crooked and brittle
like a tree becoming bare in Autumn. You
were cold and I shed what little protection
I had when you were around.

There was never a chance for what I wanted
but once I accepted that, you were already gone.

My fingers feel like traitors, betraying me by
tearing your smile apart. My heart it weeps
for the possibility of you ever coming back is
like the possibility of those photos being whole.

And like the heartbroken girl sitting on her
bed, in sadness and anger I ripped the
pictures to shreds. If I had no pride I'd slip
over to the waste basket and tape them
back together.