It's two a.m. and I'm alone again.
My bed feels empty and cold without you to fill it.
I can't remember what it's like
to be content.
The last few days and nights all I've thought about was you.
And I'm coming to the conclusion
that I can't trust myself.
I can't trust my memories.
Because when I get like this,
the only fleeting memory that will cross my mind
is of summer nights in your room,
feeling safe and warm and loved.
I know that I can't trust myself
alone or on the phone
Because if I hear your voice
tell me you miss me one more time,
I just might believe you.
You can tell me that you're sorry,
and you can tell me that you've changed,
but I've learned
that words are nothing more
than lies scratched onto paper
in an eloquent script.
And it doesn't matter anyways
so there's no point in trying
to figure you out.
So I'll turn the phone to silent
and embrace the inevitable cold sheets
and hope that morning comes with better light.