she came around home one day,
then left and never came back;
maybe it's cause i told her i loved her
maybe it's cause i said it the wrong way
maybe it's cause i wasn't supposed to love
maybe it's cause i had nothing else to say
"i love you, i love you, i love you,"
spilling from the lips that she kissed, once,
when she was still whole and
my heart was still putty clay
when her skin wasn't broken glass
when i didn't have to ask her to stay
and, you know, i think
that she loved me, too,
looking at where she used to lay;
she told me not to miss her.
i still think of her every day.