ALICIA SELBY

The photograph by the bedside table,
All dusty now, in a tarnished frame,
Two smiling faces in happier times,
Back when I believed you were still mine.

It's no optical illusion, the image of the pain upon your face,
It's no optical illusion, my vision of you as you leave this place.

A suitcase packed, is it filled with regrets.
The cab is waiting, his meter trips,
Please turn and pull me close, so tight.
Before you walk down the steps and out of my life.

The object in the photo grows smaller in this instance.
No trick photography, has moved you away in distance.

It's no optical illusion, the image of the pain upon your face,
It's no optical illusion, my vision of you as you leave this place.

My vision of you as you leave this place.
My vision of you as you leave this place.

Copyright 2012 Writer: Alicia Selby