Nights spent in my bedroom,

Sleeping on my chair

Because the imprint of your body lay

On my sheets and my pillows

And your imprint, with the absence of your body,

Is enough to make a grown woman cry.

Sleeping in my chair,

Dreaming about the day I let you become

The one that got away.

I wake up and break a sweat,

Or maybe those are just tears,

Because you’re gone,

And only your imprint remains.

But do you also remember the good sometimes?

Or did I wreck the best of you and all that you are?

All that you are is love,

Even your imprint screams it late at night,

Making me twitch in my chair

As I sleep.

All that you are is sweet love,

A beautiful array of flying butterflies enclosed in a frame up on my wall.

The love I seem to find now,

Compares to nothing when I remember your body before

The only thing that remained,

Was your imprint.

Before you became the one that got away