I remember your eyes, but I don’t remember the color.
The snow on the ground makes me forget about summer.
I remember the sinking feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach.
I remember the sound of glass breaking, I don’t remember what caused it.
When I was a little girl I colored so many pictures,
I can’t remember what of, I probably should’ve kept them.
But the things that you keep don’t matter as much,
we forget what’s in front of us trying to remember what we lost.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
I remember your eyes, but I don’t remember the color.
The snow on the ground makes me forget about summer.
I remember the sinking feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach.
I remember the sound of glass breaking, I don’t remember what caused it.
When I was a little girl I colored so many pictures,
I can’t remember what of, I probably should’ve kept them.
But the things that you keep don’t matter as much,
we forget what’s in front of us trying to remember what we lost.
