It’s the sound of your voice,
And how you hear mine, with all the noise.
It’s the smell of the air,
As you stand behind, and tussle my hair.
It’s the warmth of your words,
And how I keep company with them,
It’s your songs, and how I match them with the chords,
And how they stay in my mind, like tiny little gems.
It’s the apologies,
And how they never amount to a non existent fault.
It’s the fact that I cannot ask that from you,
And why it should never be.
It’s the silent thud of loneliness,
And how I long for the past.
It’s the thought of doing without,
And yes, living without.