I stopped writing the day I left you Because with 1300 miles to seperate us I am slowly forgetting what it feels like To feel gravity pushing on me through your body Or to hear you whisper me to sleep
I quit singing in the shower The moment I got on that plane Because no bathroom echoes the way yours does And no water can rinse you into me
I've been turning into something since that day Something not made of my particles And I think it has to do with Them still sticking to your skin