My picture of you is covered in dust,
No matter how hard I try I can't scratch off the rust.
I peer into your smiling eyes and wonder why?
Why this picture is all I have left of you?
Why is there nothing that I can do?
To sew us back together so I can forget these broken threads.
Nothing I can do,
To clear the aching fog in my head.
Nothing I can do,
To remember you clearly in my memory.
Because I'm looking right at you, yet still you are blurry.
I grab and grasp for the slightest pigment,
Praying for fulfillment,
Hoping that you aren't just a fabricated image.
Nevertheless you fade, my doubts invade, whispering softly, they say,
"Maybe a dream, is what you're better off to stay."