The cliché,
"Every song reminds me of you"
is so wrong.

After spending a day
with your carefree mind
and your child-like hands
that are always searching
and always taking,
I've come to realize
that every song
seems to have been written
for the purpose of you.

Every love song seems
to have been describing
your perfect golden hair
that was crafted by the sun,
or your mysterious ocean
of the night sky that is resting
on your head.

Every breakup song seems
to have been attacking
your painfully empty eyes,
hollowed out by your
very own demons,
or your cruel words
filled with vice
and fiery spit
that seemed to have been
born from the
deepest pits of hell.

See,
every song does not
remind me of you.
Every song is made of you.