1 2 3 4,
I count all the steps,
That led me to your closet door.
1 2 3 4,
I remember all the arguments we had,
Which were over such little things.
1 2 3 4,
I re-read all the old messages you sent me,
Realizing you probably never meant any of those words.
1 2 3 4,
I can still feel your lips on mine,
And the lie you tried to get me to believe.
1 2 3 4,
I found the poems you wrote me in my marble notebook,
Each lovely word still has the power to make me cry.
1 2 3 4,
I replay in my head the last conversation we had,
Before you decided to say goodbye.
1 2 3 4,
I look down at the pen I’m writing this with,
Seeing that it’s broken and so is my heart.
1 2 3 4,
I still miss you,
Even though you cause me to like the color red.
1 2 3 4,
I want you to come back,
Before I can no longer say,
1 2 3 4.