Fear of being left behind,
my most faithful lover.
Not once have you betrayed me.
Not once have you forsaken me.
Not once have you left me behind.
Not once left me uncovered.
There have been times when you were weak
and times when you were further
but never have been out of reach,
never have you died on me…
I wonder if you’ll always be
– until the day I’m dead.
And would you call it murder,
if I grew up and made the choice
of leaving you instead?
A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth
PiaPetePoetry 