she asks me why i keep looking behind closed doors and i don't want to say but i keep looking for something unbruised or a distant feeling that's been renewed or i don't know
a past memory. maybe an old life.
she asks me why i keep looking behind closed doors and i struggle to say that i miss the past. that everything i lost was really all i had and i miss it. i miss them. i miss every time someone made me genuinely smile
i miss the times where people bothered to try.
she asks me why i keep looking behind closed doors when i know there's nothing of substance and i don't want to say that i find out a new disappointing fact every time i peak behind that door, an outstanding opportunity to break my heart, an old smile that feels like happiness when i tend to revisit, and a part of me believes my care could revive it.
that's why i keep checking behind closed doors.
that's why ill beat the door down, until i can see right through it.