He always said I was a mystery. Like reading a murderous book.

Who is the killer?

Well, it was him. He tore my heart apart with out even knowing he held it in his hands.

I bet he didn't know he was my world. That when he laughed I laughed harder, when he was sad he was a tornado and I was the city.

I held onto his hand like it was hope. The tears in his eyes were just a facade. He was a comedian I was the joke.

But, I still wobble behind you. Hoping you look back.

But, you never did.