And it broke my heart,
so I turned down all the pictures
and I tried to forget
where I put your necklace but
it's still reflected in the mirror,
lurking behind my jewelry box.
And it broke my heart
when I took the yearbook from the shelf
and stumbled on your picture
not so accidentally,
right before your scrawled
And how to regain composure
when turning down the sheets,
when lying on the bed,
while thinking of all the alternate worlds
where my hand is in your hand, but...
that's before I changed the pictures
and let tarnish choke that silver charm
and put the yearbook in the attic
next to the music that you wrote.
And, don't you know,
It felt so good
to spray my bed with my perfume;
to willfully forget
you ever smiled there.