He used to be a handsome man, but now
he’s broken and he wears a solemn brow.
We used to make our love and feel the joy
but now his life is different; I employ
my absence in the hopes he’ll understand
that being in his life just isn’t grand.
I love him still whatever “loving” means.
I think of him and hope he mends and gleans
an understanding of my absent love
I’m thinking of the things I’m thinking of
He’s not the same; I know he’s not the same,
But I am still the one who knows his name.
It sucks to be in such an awful place
where absence is the only friendly face.