Remembering the days I didn't have you in my life
is something of a struggle and a game unto my sight
My rapid moving eyes can see until the lids are closed
and everything that happens then is etched into my bones
But what about the pen that wrote your name so many times
along the very person I am being in my mind
I want another hand to wrap its fingers in my own
to tell me I am present and will never be alone
I thought I would have heard it but perhaps I wait in vain
your silence is a phantom that once danced around my brain
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Remembering the days I didn't have you in my life
is something of a struggle and a game unto my sight
My rapid moving eyes can see until the lids are closed
and everything that happens then is etched into my bones
But what about the pen that wrote your name so many times
along the very person I am being in my mind
I want another hand to wrap its fingers in my own
to tell me I am present and will never be alone
I thought I would have heard it but perhaps I wait in vain
your silence is a phantom that once danced around my brain
you appear to disappear
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