Sometimes I think if I take my eyes off
for a minute you'll have been there
and left too late for me.
I feel like I'm chasing something I'll
never find, following an empty voice
that I haven't heard
since I stupidly said it was close enough
and left the rest for you to forget.
It's been three days since we spoke,
ten since I held you.
I should have never let go;
this should have made everything better.
But where are we going when I know
exactly where I've already looked?