I sit on my couch, look to my right,
ruffles from your feet get caught in sunlight.
I look to my couch and think I don't care,
but I just can't stand that you're not there.

I get in my car, I pull away slow,
empty CD cases where the passengers go.
I drive as I do, and see what I see,
but I just can't stand that you're not next to me.

I look at my bed, not touched since the morn,
it cries out with imprints of bodies held and worn.
I look at the pillows, see some of your hair,
and remember how much I wish you were there.

I look at my side; my shoulder, my hand,
cry lightly that they're all alone once again.
Whether it's been one hour, or an entire year,
I'll never get over how you aren't here...