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.