If it was a year ago today, and you had texted me,
Like you did I would have wanted to try and fix our friendship.
But i’ve come to terms with the fact that we can't.
I cant, i should say, it had always been a one-sided effort.
I used to always  fall into that hole of “hope.”
Hope that we could rebuild things,
Hope that our friendship wasn’t completely over
But I don’t think i can keep falling into that hole because it’s gotten so small i can barely feel the hope anymore.
The feeling now is so small that i don’t want to rebuild, only to crash again.

I can see it in her eyes
when she comes creeping in.
She's been somewhere she promised me
she'd never go again.
She thinks that I won't know it.
She thinks that I can't tell.
She forgets how many times
she's put us through this hell.   
She's sitting right beside me,
but She's not really there.
There mothers slowly dying,
Killing herself without a care.

As the first drop fell on me
I looked up at the black canvas
gathering and rumbling ominously.

But there was supposed to be another
not far
but right over my head
to defend me against the weather
pattering insane
between me and the rain.

Did I by any chance
leave my umbrella here, sir?
I ran to the shopkeeper.

We all suffer this predicament
was his smiling statement
losing grip over our mind
letting things be left behind
and then came the mischievous addendum
as if my trouble had inspired his mood

go for good
once you let them go
woman and umbrella

they never again show.