I never finished them,
although I wanted to
'Cause every time I tried,
I always thought of you.
And every time the pen
and paper start to touch,
the memories rush back,
and they all hurt so much.
The memories themselves
are not what's really sad.
They're actually the opposite:
the good times that we had.
But the thing about the good times
is that they never last.
That happiness behind me--
you live only in my past.
And so when I sit down to write,
I find it's no can-do.
The only thing that's stopping me
is that I keep missing you.
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