When I woke up at 4am, the TV wasn't on.
I found it hard feel my way accross the floor
Without the flickering light, I guess you're gone.
I live in the pictures of us before,
When things were good-- although never great for long.
I've still got a piece of you in my back pocket,
But no silver locket, no impulsive tattoo.
You still sing to me in my bedside fan,
Cling to me in my grandmothers quilts,
Speak softly through the smell I find in my pillow.
For now, I will carry you with me,
A burden I won't mind,
Mostly because I can't get you out of mine.
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