They go by slower and slower. Everyday that you're gone. But if I played the same game.
You'd ask if I didn't love you anymore.
If I lost feelings.
But I don't do that.
Instead I sit.
I wait.
And I think.
About the choices I've made.
Maybe I should've chosen this instead.
Maybe I shouldn't have made this choice.
Maybe I should've died.
Maybe. Life. Would. Be. Better.
