I've changes settings and scenes, time for you to take your final bow.

do you miss the words that spilled from my fingertips?
the ones about you?
the ones about our secrets?
the ones you never read?
because I've been thinking of that summer
and I've been thinking of that night
trying to grasp onto some logical reason
but it seems to be just out of my reach

I spent so many hours
writing to an empty room
about your smile
your laugh
your voice
and your eyes
that the silence begged for me to stop
and the clock refused to move on
until it was sure I'd be doing the same
but here I am again

was it the mention of your name?
or the thought of your existence
that brought it all to the surface
and reminded me about every lie you told
wasting my time
thinking of metaphors
you'd be able to grasp
never the intellectual,
that should have been a sign

these will be the last words
about your blue eyes
(I made a promise to my walls
and an oath to my clock)
I'll find another story to tell when this is over
but this book won't be dedicated to you
it will be for the next heartbreak
that consumes me
because it's the drama that keeps people reading
and it's only real
if the wounds are still raw