I don’t suppose I’d know you were gone,

If you had never been there in the first place.

I’d place you as an emptiness in my heart,

A swinging hammock with no one pushing it,

Heartstrings not to be played by its minstrel.

I don’t suppose I’d have a reason to sing,

Nor know that my heart could ever beat faster than rest.

It would only beat that way for you.

But I suppose I’d never know that either,

If you’d never have been there.