Everything is black and white.
You've taken the contrast too.
I want the color of your face back.
The other day on campus, I thought I saw it.
I watch for you always and see you every place:
in the back of my heart, in the corner of my eye.
These are the weak moments.
In times like these, every room is a waiting room.
I'm waiting,
waiting for that text which reads "from Lynsey my Love,"
waiting to smile again,
waiting for you to come back,
waiting to finish our lives.
Can you hear me breathing from there?
Can you see the house we were supposed to live in?
the little, single-story, vine-draped one that I walk past everyday.
I can see the house we were supposed to live in.
How can a world console me that was once consumed by you?
This feels like the end, though they say its the beginning.
They say there's other fish in the sea.
I'm just having problems with the temptation to jump in after.
I just feel like destroying something beautiful,
because something beautiful destroyed me.
