The sun shone through your hair
as you got lost in your book
oh with your beauty so fair
all of my love, you then took

Goodnight, my friend, I hope you sleep well,
I hope that tomorrow, doesn't put you through hell.
But if it does, then I want you to know,
that you're cared about no matter, where you go.
You amaze me more, than words can express,
and I'm sorry for the days, your life's full of stress.
But chin up my friend, tomorrow'll be good,
if we get what we deserve, then it really should.

Your eyes still know me, but do your lips?
Do you remember how it felt, to have my hand round your hips?
I know you remember who I was, but do you know how you felt?
Do you remember the way I made your heart melt?
Do your hands remember mine, like mine remember yours?
Do you remember how I laughed, when we were sitting outdoors?

I don't think you do, I think you forgot,
and for that reason alone, I envy you a lot.

I'm so forgetful,
Because I'm busy remembering the important things.
Like the voice of my angel,
Who lost her wings,
or the way she smelled,
or the way she walked,
or the way she hit me,
or the way she talked.

Yet away from me, these things do slip,
the important things, escaped my grip.

Writing has always, been my calling,
and writing is but the act of falling.
Falling in love, or falling apart,
curse my ever, falling heart.

Every villain is a hero, in their own mind.
Every monster, is just normal, to their own kind.
The monster in the dungeon, well they live there.
But when I am who I am, you all stare.
To become a villain, I just did what was best,
then let you all know that, and you did the rest/

Why is it when asked about love, our answers are never sweet?
Never stories of stolen kisses? Or intense and passionate heat?
No, our stories are always sorrowful, stories of such pain.
Complaints of the things we did, and warnings of 'never again'?