A piece I wrote about my grandmother's death. Tips are welcome.
Was I right, to walk out on you?
Did I do wrong, by not staying by your side?
Should I have been there with you?
They tell you to never look back,
But lately I've been doing it more often.
Looking back at all the good times,
Just you and me.
And then to remember that in the end..
None of it mattered.
Because I still left.