onacarom
Member
Each morning she does the same
When the morning comes
I see your emptiness in the bed
and with that image in my gaze
I surrender to fantasy
that you are you still in my life
every day, every day
I leave the TV on
and put on the little table
the sketchbooks
that so much entertained you
To fill the room
with heat
of voice and color
and walk that space
without feeling so much cold
every day, every day
When the morning comes
I see your emptiness in the bed
and with that image in my gaze
I surrender to fantasy
that you are you still in my life
every day, every day
I leave the TV on
and put on the little table
the sketchbooks
that so much entertained you
To fill the room
with heat
of voice and color
and walk that space
without feeling so much cold
every day, every day