The Photos Without Me

Each day the hurt is less.
Sometimes I’m not one to repress
Emotions of anger, joy, and pain,
I let them pour out like turbulent rain.
Tonight I took a forbidden look,
At photos from my old life on the book.
I half smiled,
The same way I once had stories to share and almost dialed
Your number from my phone,
Forgetting that I’m now alone.
When you’re alone you can’t share,
Not stories or photos of life or any affair.
It’s self-absorption at its worst,
When yourself consumes you and few things can burst
The tiny bubble surrounding the mind,
And blocking your happiness, and making you blind.
Blind from seeing how lucky you are,
When many others from both near and far,
Would view your life as an escape,
From suffering and hell, and for their sake,
Push your unhappiness to the back of your mind,
And forget your sorrows that make you lash out and be unkind.