In the corner of the living room was an album of unbearable photos,
Of me as a child, before I left, when we were still close.
The days of Disneyland and shopping sprees; a simpler time.
"We were close," she would say, "and then you left."
The years drug by, and she shut me out, afraid of getting hurt.
She left me, I was never far from her side; I was abandoned.
Fights would brew, tears were shed, till I was through.
I looked into her cold black eyes and said,"I'm leaving for good."
She flipped through the pages, through the memories, through the tears.
"Why did you leave me? Why did you go?" The pictures sat on her heart for eternity.
Clinging.