When I stooped to pick up the scattered
Pieces of the shattered glass
You so angrily threw in the vicinity
Of my head when I was thirteen years old
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

When I bent over to still the throbbing
Pain behind my ribs
You so angrily punched vigorously
As I collapsed at the foot of the stairs,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

When I silently accepted the meted out
Punishment of lash after leather lash
For a crime I might've committed
But certainly didn't fit the excess discipline,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

When I watched over your sleeping form
As you dreamt of a life far away
From the accumulated griefs and offenses
Which eventually incited you to go,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

Loved was always past tense.
Leave was always on my mind.

Eventually, neither of us did the loving,
But you did the leaving.

Yet I find myself stuck in this same
Train of Thought:

*How much I loved you and couldn't leave.