No titles this time around #8

Your picture sits in my window
Right next to your box of stuff
It's the only thing I haven't put away
Your memory lingers around these walls
It's beginning to cut into my chest
I wish I felt nothing at all in this mess we call a catastophe
Everything is so messed up and you're not here
How do you get so far from where you began?
How does a love so close turn into this strange man
Nothing's the same and everything's lost
The only thing that is real is your picture sitting in a frame on my window
And even that's making me insane
Nothing can change the way it is
Or they way we are
This is what happens when you let it get to far
I can't remember why we started but,
I know why we end