Write about sadness through simplicity playing with sonnet form.

I should just delete those photos from my birthday
Getting old has become more cursed than blessed
Last year, I realized no one and nothing stays the same
When the candles were blown out and everyone left
He left. And so did my childhood.
My birthday marked the moment everything changed.
I caught a lingering cold, my muscles spasmed each time I stood.
Change is good, they said. Then why does nothing remain
Except the photos from my birthday I can’t delete
And this damn cold and muscle aches
They’ve become my only companions, or I’d be all alone to sleep
Guess I’ve lost the ability to heal with old age
Still can’t delete those photos from my birthday
It would be too permanent to admit change is here to stay