At night I place my hand over my heart.
Feeling for the beat that means I'm still alive.
Still here. Still breathing. Still worth it.

I can remember the day you brought me flowers.
You showed up, shirt pressed, with that same sad smile.
I didn't want to tell you the truth.
That my lips had already known another man,
that my finger tips burned at the thought of his skin.
So instead I told you that I only saw you as a friend,
despite the weeks of rough *** and stolen time together.
After everything, how could I admit that you were so much more?
I'd already proven that you were clearly not enough.

Tonight I'll place my hand over my heart with tears in my eyes.
Praying that for once I'll be able to believe it's beat means I'm still alive.