Tonight as I make my way
Through an old photo album,
I once again look upon
The faces of friends
I've long since lost touch with.
Most often they were the ones
Who chose to let me go
Without warning, without a goodbye,
And I, forever insecure,
Wondered what I had done,
Or who I'd become,
To drive them away.
Yet when I look beyond
The inborn certainty
That I am somehow at fault,
I realize they have simply moved on,
Following the course of their lives,
And meeting their destinies.
Is that what I am doing, too?
Even though I feel I am sitting still?
Am I also moving on,
Following my own course
Toward my own destiny?