I could tell you, on lonely nights I lay awake. Trying to remember the way your hair felt against my arm, as you slept on my chest.

But I'd rather pretend the reason I'm laying alone, is because someone who won't break their promise is laying awake, waiting for the same thing.

I could tell you, that I miss the way you had to stand on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on my crown.

But I'd rather pretend that every one of those kisses, wasn't a prelude to the wounds you left.