My fingers quaver as the portrait in my hands does more than just inundate my soul with memories.

Maybe I should let go and smash it. But what if along with it, I squash all precious moments garnered with you?

“They are but just memories,” I comfort myself yet the pain is crippling. I cannot let go – not of the portrait, and certainly not of you.

My mind mocks me. “You had your chance,” it teases. Indeed! But I was afraid then, of committing.

What if I had? With you, I should have, I would have, I could have, but I didn’t.

My knees fail me and buckle. The tears that streak down my face run deeper than any river.

Maybe I should take it all in good stride and lick my tender wounds.

Maybe I should turn around in gusto and walk away, head high, albeit bruised within.

At least I did get a whiff of the amazing person you were, but won’t be anymore.

Maybe I try so hard to turn that I fail myself but trust me, I try.

But I’ll keep trying.

Maybe; I’ll learn the lessons I don’t want to.

Maybe someday, I’ll look back and tease my merciless mind in return.

Maybe I’ll laugh this over and curse if it hadn’t happened.

Maybe time will heal. I’ll try