Tales from my Old Self - a song

I kept your picture
In my bedside drawer,
Talked to it like
My heart's in it.

Sang my thoughts
To the pixels spreaded,
Feared every next step
I'd take.

Running felt like
The thing to do,
Leaving was the season,
I felt good, I felt true.

You were not your picture
Not in my head,
Broken like the next disaster,
We simply had to end.

Your endless pleas
To my iron ears,
Your streaming letters,
To my unshed tears.

Running felt like
The thing to do,
Leaving was the season,
I felt good, I felt true.

Explaining wasn't my way,
I sucked the words in,
Left on a cloudy day,
Unheard and unseen.

Left the picture in the cold,
Your memories along with it,
Moving into other cities,
With other stories to unfold.

Running felt like
The thing to do,
Leaving was the season,
I felt good, I felt true.