I'm just a face that you once knew,
and that is all--not a heart,
not a voice, nor friend, nor name,
but a face. A pretty one.
You said I was the only one.
I know I did. And I meant it,
but I want so much more with you.
I want a chance. I want a life.
I want to fight for what might be,
but that is no longer an option.
A simple sentence: I am leaving.
And that's it--it's a period on a thought.
Nothing comes after that, no arguing,
no trying to convince you otherwise.
You're leaving; I'm staying.
And obviously, that means that
nothing more could come of us.
I am sorry for what might have happened
in your absence. But understand
that you gave me no options, but he did.
With him, I'm still a pretty face,
but at least I have a maybe to cling to.
to hope on. It lingers a bit.
You're leaving, and I wish I could go
with you. I can't.
I would as soon as I could, if possible,
but I can't.
Because you have so much life in you,
so much ahead of you. Opportunities.
And I do not. I don't belong in that--
I don't deserve that.
I am so insignificant compared to it all.
We all know that--I will remain
that pretty face you knew
once upon a time.
I've gotten through the weeks by
dabbling in hope,
but it's like a tilted hourglass
and all of my hope
is steadily declining.
I've done nothing right thus far.