I left only footprints, leading
I could not give you anymore.
I turn to watch,
your face a white flag, counting my steps.
It gets harder the further down the road,
to watch my steps traced in small prints.
The neighborhood towers over my choices,
as I continue the paces.
Your face only smaller, when I turn once more.
I think quick of turning back,
pretending,
but the steps lay behind,
in snowy clarity.
Shame would fall my thoughts,
if I return.
Maybe your face would smile
if my steps suddenly collected,
my decision changed?
Would our life turn over and shine brighter?
The brisk winter on my skin
tells me a different scenario.
A cold bitter tale.
If all I could give was my absence,
please remember my face
rather than my footprints,
leading away.
Based on this print of footsteps in the snow.