How can I write about you fondly,
When I can’t  pen a good memory to your name?
The lies mix together with reality to mark the death of an angel and all I can say is I’m sorry.
I’m sorry there’s no love lost between the lines,
I’ve read between them all,
I beat myself up for not being able to write about an angel but the truth is I never had one to call my own,
So I’m sorry.
It feels like a lie to accent a painting,
A still-frame moment pictured in my head,
I’m sorry is all I’ve ever said and it’s fallen on deaf ears.
But how can I make anyone else listen when the words are years apart,
And I’m only trying to talk to you?
What would they say,
If they understood I was chasing a painted moment?
I’m sorry this is how I remember you.