Many nights I have spent wishing you would come back
I'd combat the thoughts of you with numbing substance
pressing random buttons forming words and sentences.
I have mentioned this about you a couple thousand times
"each succeeding line is all written in the presence of her
as the nights bother the days; I've spent minutes dazed,
felt crazed that she would be so far and so distant".
People say time heals all wounds, as if tombs would open up
and frozen hearts would start to roam the Earth once again.
It's all a fantasy, to fantasise a world where time heals wounds
is like repainted rooms would had not once held the colours before,
the pretence and second layer is a covered decor, it's fictitious
to witness the ticking of time and suggest that scars fade,
and part ways are path ways that don't necessarily mean anything.
Times don't heal scars, nor do they properly heal the wounds,
the tunes that once shared between two people in tune still hurt
and words spoken between the two lips and heard by the two ears
are fears of memories still trying to dig itself out of the coffin
buried beneath the passage of time and the belief that everything is okay.
It isn't okay...
It hasn't been okay...
Time is supposed to heal wounds but I'm consumed by the memories
the Decembers, the Februarys; months go by and the scars are still there
the wounds are still bare to the touch and all I can do is open up
the poison that numbs the feeling.
It isn't okay...
It hasn't been okay...
They keep telling me time heals all wounds, but the golden minutes
only brings up old memory visits that lead me back to where you lay.
I'd play would you rather with you one more time if I could talk to you,
but time undoes what I couldn't do. Time keeps passing and it's letting me
still remember you and for that I am thankful.

I love you.
One more year has passed.