Snapshot
Running through a series of montages, seeking depth, but too frightened to scratch below the surface. Running myself ragged trying to please you, suffering through anxiety and confused. Fears that you'll leave me for a stranger, choosing a blank canvas fresh and unknown over our canvas smeared over with so many shades of murky gray.
Finally, you are too restless, fed up, over me, so you turn and walk away. I stand breathless. Worn out, I sit down and take a breath. Usually, I'd be 10 steps ahead, but what's the point when we weren't even climbing up the same tree.
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