The story of us, is one that we do not need.
It is one that we must see.
The healing of letting it go is for the best, but deep down we know it might be the worst.
The fight was hard, but we knew that from the start.
You walked towards me and I ran from you.
You beg me to stay, and I beg you to go.
Then you stayed and I stayed.
One day it was good, then running started again.
Suddenly, the table were turned, and I do not remember why.
It flipped so fast, that my breath never caught the air.
The door was open, and you did not run like me you did you walk.
You walk so I could see and know what was happening.
You left me in the light, you wanted me to see you leave.
The dark would have been to kind.
You knew that was my friend.
I could not ask you why, I just look at the dust settling where you once were.
The thing I ran from, become the thing I wanted to run to.
This time I could not run.
My legs did not move, my heart could not beat.
The story I wanted to see, became the one that needed not telling.