It's not that I just think of you, every now and then,
Or that I sometimes hope that I, will see you once again.
It's not that you're the late night thought, I try to keep at bay,
Or that I wonder how you are, when I start my day.
It's not that I wish you were here, when I feel alone,
Or that I'm calling out your name, when I'm coming home.

It is that I look for you, in an empty room,
And that since you walked away, all I see is gloom.
It is that I overthink, everything you said,
And that no matter what I try, you're always in my head.
It is that everything I think, and all the things I do,
are drained and soaked and coloured black, by the loss of you.