my happiness is as faded as the red sweater that's being continuously washed
and my skin isn't how it used to be
so pure and tender and soft
and sometimes because of it all
i forget to breathe

i often wonder why people leave
but thinking back
i haven't tried to make them stay
what's the point?

i still have the old locket you bought me
from the antique store
where the mirrors stuck together on each wall
even the ceiling and i saw reflections of myself
past | present | future

you handed it me and swore to stay
was i not good enough?
i won't spend time chasing you and
begging you to stay
if you weren't going to anyway

(a.t)