The first month was pure bliss,
Sneaking out for a midnight kiss.
Going sightseeing and quite walks
All of the late-night talks.

The second month was a mess,
Felt you loving me less and less.
Falling asleep not to you,
But wishing it was you.

The third month was better,
Like opening an old letter.
The smell of the past coming back,
The smell of a sweet, sweet, lilac.

The fourth month was great,
It all felt like fate.
Spending the nights with you,
Wishing it was no one but you.

The fifth month was yet to come,
The feeling struck me dumb,
Nothing more was to come,
You left me alone in the rain, cold and numb.