The painting on the wall,
reflect the simple songs,
we loved,
we shared.

The absence of the sound,
collected and compounded,
into one,
tightly wound bomb.

Did I expect for it to explode all to soon?
I can't explain how much it pains me to lose,
the one thing I loved.

I spend cold long nights up by the window,
watching and waiting for you to come home,
I won't sleep tonight,
or the next night,
or the next or the next or the next or the next,
or the next night.

But I'm fine,
I'm fine.

Don't waste your time,
looking back.