I wonder just exactly what it was that you saw when you looked at me.
How could one person see through the layers, see past the things I hold inside
and find the person I continually try to hide?
I’ve been looking at pictures of you and you looked so happy.
What did I miss? How could you do this?
I hold onto your death while it tears me apart,
while I try to discover just what went on in your heart.
I look at your face in the few photos I have,
just like me, always smiling, even your eyes laugh.
And if I were wiser than I was at the time,
knowing nothing will change, that it’s all in my mind,
I could have told you I loved you, showed you I cared,
instead of turning my back like you never were there.
And it’s all my fault. I couldn’t save you,
but I feel like I was the person to break you,
and I didn’t have to be.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The thought that I’ll never see you again
breaks a heart that was already broken back then
when I callously turned you away.
Now it’s too late.
You will never hear all the words I have to say
or read all the lines I am forced to right
every single night.
So I look at the pictures and I close my eyes,
imagine you with me, that the real world’s a lie.
In the dreams I am crying because you are just fine
and you never left me and you are all mine.
As your arms circle around me because you see the tears fall,
I wake from my dreaming because you’re dead and that’s all.
These dreams are too perfect, I know that they’re wrong
and my eyes shoot open and I know that you’re gone.
I look at your picture, your unblinking eyes,
wishing my mind would let me sleep with the lies.