I look at photographs of you,
your smiles and your green
eyes.
A stranger,
much of life.
Were you a good person or just making a
good lie?
Questions never answered,
as I walk through life.
He told me that you had died,
A car accident,
And I had cried.
Sometimes I talk to you,
Just about how I feel about things,
And things that I did,
So you can see the person I've become.
And I like to think you'd hear
me
sometimes.
