We're not something, that I regret,
though now I feel, my heart's beset,
every poem was still, so perfect, so true,
though just like, each 'I love you'.

I don't regret us, it was worth the pain,
and given a chance, I'd do it again.

I see you in the ocean, as I stare out at sea,
and miss you when I sit, where you once sat with me.
When I awake from a nightmare, with my heart all a'race,
the one sight I wish for, is your beautiful face.
I miss your laugh when I think of, jokes I wish I could tell,
and I miss your gentle sweetness, when my life feels like hell.
I miss my little angel, when I stare at the rain,
I miss you so much, that my heart fills with pain.
I miss your perfect hair, as I watch the flames dance,
and I miss that first night, when we took that first chance.
But our story's not over, our story's not done,
I might miss you now, but I know you're the one.

And she's back and it's great and I'm top of the heap,
she says she loves me and I'm feeling complete.
But then comes the days, when she no longer replies,
and each time I reach out, a little more of me dies.
My head says I'm being stupid, by my heart starts to bleed,
'There's a logical reason...' 'but it's her love I need'.
So hey, maybe she's not gone, maybe I'm thinking too much
But I miss her so much, I crave her voice and her touch,
now I'm unsure if she's mine.

I assume you're gone, but I don't know,
you won't even say, why you've hurt me so.
Still alone right here, I miss you,
my angel's gone, what can I do?

When I thought of the future, it was always me you,
Together we were unbreakable, tested, tried and true.
But now you're just in memories of times better than this,
Yet I've no idea if you are still the same person that I miss

It's kind of sad to think, that it's been a whole **** year,
and I still listen to this song, as the clock reads 4am,
and down my cheek still slides, a single lonely tear.

And I'm still sat here missing you,
and I still don't know what to do,
and I still tearfully miss,
that last so haunting kiss.

Still you're out there having fun,
or more likely asleep,
I'll sleep with the rising sun,
because in love I'm far too deep.

My best friend looked to me and said,
“I’m not a writer, I’m an author. Writers write, authors create.”
and if that’s true, then I’m a writer, not a poet.
I don’t create the poems, your beauty does.
...I just write them down.