there's always a little bit of magic
in a last dance.
one that closes an era of joy or sorrow
or both or none.
there's hope in the way i hold you
hoping that maybe it really won't be the last.
but good things don't last,
can't last.
so instead i hold you
as tears stream down your face.
there's always anguish
in a last dance
to compensate for the magic,
for the hope
that the days before had caused.
anguish buried under layers
of false smiles and promises
that maybe we'll see each other again.
and with that your pretty face turns
walks away with absolutely no confidence,
head hung down,
destroyed.
yet somehow i realize that,
with everything,
you've taken my heart too.
so i'm left broken
without
you.