depression,
stuck in past memories of you.
I'm sitting at the counter,
observing what I remember,
repulsed and delighted,
by what we both had once called 'food.'
I would have ran away,
I would have tried anything,
before I said goodbye.
When did you decide
that you didn't love me?
How could you move on so quickly?
You made it look so easy.
Well, perhaps it was, for you.
We were once so happy,
at least that's what I recall.
How could you have left me?
I guess, I'm still here,
chocking back tears
from every memory we made.
I wonder what would have happened...
if things would have changed,
or if they'd have remained the same
if you had given us a chance,
if you had thought to stay.