it’s not really you,

it’s more like the memories we made.

Like all the days we laughed

cried

and fought.

I treasure every one of them,

deeper than the oceans and seas

so deep i get confused between a grieve or a dream.

It’s not really you,

it’s just your laugh

or maybe it’s your eyes

possibly it’s the way you know when i lie?

Or maybe it was never just one thing.

Maybe i miss the version of me,

that only existed when you were there,

and maybe that’s why

that no matter how many times

i tell myself that it’s not really you.

Your name still finds it way

into every little prayer

i never meant to say.