In enough time she disappears.
Although close she's gone.

The utterance of nothing at all, the smallest laugh to herself.


If by chance you notice the new heels.
She's gone out the door.
When you ask what's wrong, the answer will always be nothing.
Caught in a gaze.
She doesn't mind the compliments.

Knowing it doesn't go anywhere.
The random men that take outside appearance.


The new songs she's heard.
The ones you sing back to yourself not paying attention to the words.

If you know her well enough.

Deep down you know somethings wrong.

She'll never say a word.

She sways a different sway.

Each new dress moving closer to the front of the closet.
When she's gone you'll feel a bit of a sting.
Wondering where she's at, where she's been.

Most times she's to herself.
Driving around the town.
Maybe to get a drink, watch a movie to herself.
You can't tell why she's listening.
Casually finding all these new songs.
If by chance you confront.
She'll tell you she's always known them.
Laughing to herself.
If you truly knew, you wouldn't have to pretend.
It's hard for her to come back